


Two Out Of Three

by Astrophilla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Angst, Bartender Dean, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Emotional Constipation, Fluff, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mechanic Dean, One Night Stands, Panty Kink, Rimming, Scholar Castiel, Shower Sex, Smut, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 58,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4087855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrophilla/pseuds/Astrophilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Castiel had to do was make it through a summer knee-deep in academic research, and then he was off to start the next chapter of his scholarly career in Harvard — predictable, respectable, and safe. Figures that all it took was a one night stand with a cocky, green-eyed bartender to throw all of that right out the window.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the amazing causidicus, she's absolutely fantastic and puts up with way too much of my procrastination and crap. Girl, where would I be without you and your American picking?
> 
> Also a massive thanks to lovely sunshinewinchesters — if you're looking for good reading material, check their stuff out!
> 
> Tags will be added as and when.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I've been sitting on this one for a while, so I decided to post for some extra motivation to get it finished up :)

_**I want you,**_ _**I need you** _

_**But there ain't no way** _

_**I'm ever gonna love you.**_

_**Now don't be sad,**_

_**'Cause two out of three ain't bad.** _

**-Meatloaf**

 

* * *

 

“C’mon, Cassie, Diet Pepsi? Sometimes I wonder where I went wrong with you,” Gabriel sighed, slumping on his barstool. “I swear you popped right out of the womb equipped with that fusty trenchcoat and a buzzkill attitude, like some damn middle aged Ken Doll.”

Castiel rolled his eyes as he waited for the bartender to return with their drinks. “I don't want to be out late anyway, so if you’re going to be rude, I'll leave now."

“You wouldn’t dare,” Gabriel gasped in faux horror, “this is my last supper! Who knows what perils may befall me on my quest, I could never return. Knowing this, you’re going to celebrate our last guaranteed night of boyish camaraderie drinking soda and threatening to bail? You’re no brother of mine,” he huffed, crossing his arms on the bar and glaring melodramatically off into the distance.

“You’re going to California for the summer, Gabriel,” Castiel sighed, thanking the bartender as she brought them their glasses, “it’s hardly a punishment. Some might even call it enjoyable.”

Gabriel waved a hand in dismissal, forgetting his tantrum momentarily to throw a grin at the petite blonde woman on the other side of the bar. “When you’ve run one nightclub you’ve run them all, the only difference is the efficiency of the air conditioning. And it’s not exactly a vacation, I won’t even see daylight between all the soiree surfing and bigwig ass-kissing I’ll be doing.”

Castiel grimaced and shot the bartender an apologetic smile. “Delightful.”

“I know. What’s the point of doing business in the Sunshine State if you can’t even get a decent tan out of it?”

“That’s Florida,” the blonde woman piped up with a smirk.

Gabriel shrugged. “Practically the same thing, minus the alligators and humidity. Could we get a couple of rum doubles to go with these?” he asked, nodding towards their drinks. “I have a Cuban over here who could seriously be a bit more _libre._ ”

She chuckled at Gabriel’s jab and threw Castiel a wink in response to his bemused frown. “Coming right up.”

Gabriel grinned mischieviously as the woman slid the shots over to him, and it sent a shiver of apprehension down Castiel’s spine.

“I’m fine with just soda, Gabriel,” he tried, making an attempt to cover his glass. “Surely you don’t want to be ill for your flight in the morning?”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, baby bro,” he pouted like an infant at Castiel’s wary look. “Tomorrow I’m out of your hair, you’ve got my place to yourself for months of nerd-outs and croquet tournaments, whatever it is you scholars do for kicks. Just a few tonight? For me?”

Castiel had known since childhood that Gabriel getting his way was as inevitable as the tide, and there was little point fighting him. With a tight smile he relented, holding out his drink for Gabriel to spike. “Okay then, but don’t blame me when you’re spending your flight asking attendants for air sickness bags.”

“Atta boy!” Gabriel grinned, taking a mouthful of Castiel’s soda and dumping a shot in to fill it back to the top. He watched the liquid attempt to disperse before picking up the glass and raising it to his lips.

He loved his brother dearly, Castiel sighed to himself, but his business trip couldn’t come soon enough.

Time passed sluggishly for him, and three drinks later, nursing his fourth Cuba _whatever_ it was, Castiel found himself alone at the incredibly busy bar. Gabriel had left him with a leer and a waggle of eyebrows, pursuing a woman who had introduced herself with a lewd comment about the flexibility of her lower limbs. If Castiel hadn’t been mellowed by the alcohol in his system, he would probably have been horrified by the blatant display and too uncomfortable to stay. However he had started to enjoy himself a little; Jenny — or was it Jane? — the bartender made nice conversation when she could, and had kindly admired the shade of his eyes, despite Castiel’s doubts that she could even see them in the low lighting. Unfortunately though, with the sudden influx of people the friendly woman’s attention was elsewhere, leaving Castiel alone once more to wallow in regret over not having a second set of Gabriel’s keys cut when he’d had the chance.

“Dean!” He heard the bartender yell across the crowded room. “Mom says get your ass back here and help us out.” Castiel didn’t lift his head to follow the direction of her call. He was too busy staring into the last inch of his drink, hypnotized by the bursting of carbon bubbles.

Idly, he sent out a prayer that Gabriel would be able to restrain himself long enough to at least make it to a motel room, rather than disregarding social norms and having sex in a public place.

“Aw, but it’s Sammy’s round, Jo!” a deep voice replied over the hum of the patrons, and this time, interest somewhat captured by the exchange, Castiel glanced up, but it was impossible to see who was talking through the crowd.

“There’s a burger and a beer in it for you if you play nice, kid,” an older woman called from the far end of the bar as she poured a line of shots.

Castiel caught a rich laugh over the noise, and watched as a young man pushed his way through the people and lifted the hinged counter, slipping behind the busy bar. “Done and done. You ladies twist my arm.” Castiel blinked over at him, oddly captivated as the man swept the bar of empties.

“Howdy folks, I’m Dean and apparently I’ll be your devilishly handsome bartender for the next half hour,” the man teased, winking at the patrons.

Castiel found himself silently agreeing with the narcissistic observation, momentarily enthralled by the curve of the man’s unnaturally plush lips before blinking away.

The defined muscles in the barman’s — Dean’s? — forearms flexed as he rolled up the sleeves of his dark plaid shirt, and the way the bar lights hit his face emphasized every carved feature. Castiel had no idea why, but he couldn’t quite tear his faze from him. He remained transfixed, watching as Dean filled an order for the people next to him, juggling bottles and removing caps like it was a choreographed dance.

The muggy warmth in the bar was suddenly stifling, and Castiel almost wished he’d taken Gabriel’s advice to “explore sharp-casual” for once — his dress shirt was starting to stick to his skin.

When the man fired a cheeky grin at the group of girls to his left, Castiel was embarrassed to feel his mouth go dry. Of their own volition, his eyes carefully studied every inch of the man’s profile, up his perfectly straight nose and along his chiseled jawline. There was something, maybe _everything_ about him that just was so… so—

A cleared throat cut through his idle musings. Laughing green eyes stared right back at him, eyebrows raised, and Castiel choked on a sharp inhale.

“You okay, man?”

“Yes, fine. Thank you.” Castiel struggled to clear his throat, eyes watering.

Dean laughed, that rough, pleasing sound, and Castiel frowned as something deep in his chest fluttered. “Can I get you anything to drink then—”

“Castiel,” he supplied quickly, confused by his own unusual brashness. He highly doubted a man serving behind a bar would care what his name was, but the unfamiliar, nervous sensation in his stomach had compelled him to speak.

“That’s a mouthful,” the man commented, resting his hands on the counter with brows raised.

“Maybe just a soda,” Castiel said, tight-lipped and abashed. “My brother’s not here to enforce the alcohol-only rule now.” Surely it was the rum making him behave so strangely. Castiel mentally cursed Gabriel, intoxicating him only to run off and leave him to fend for himself, as he was wont to do.

Dean seemed to take the volunteered information in his stride, much to Castiel’s relief, and quickly deposited a glass in front of him before heading off to help the other women. He was probably used to inebriated strangers babbling their life stories at him. As the man conversed with a patron further down the bar Castiel looked on, absurdly envious, for once cursing his distinctly lacking social skills.

Castiel couldn’t help but follow Dean with his eyes as he worked, collecting empties and filling orders, until the rabble began to die down and had retreated to the tables with their drinks. Gabriel was still yet to return, Castiel realized with a glance at his watch, but he found he was bothered by this slightly less than he had been half an hour earlier.

Once the bar was cleared some ten minutes later, Castiel noted with trepidation that the man was strolling back over to him, and leaned down to rest an elbow on the counter by Castiel’s half-full soda.

“So, Cas, right?” Dean drawled, eyes bright in the low light. Castiel blinked across at him, the nickname throwing his already compromised focus. “How come your brother bailed? Not very sporting of him.”

Castiel licked his lips, and awkwardly cleared his throat. “He made me accompany him for a few drinks before he leaves tomorrow; boyish camaraderie, he called it.” Dean cracked a smile, and Castiel realized that he hadn’t even answered the man’s question. “Now he’s somewhere in the back acquainting himself with a new comrade. She smelt rather pungently of patchouli.”

At that the man let out a bubble of laughter, and Castiel toyed with his glass, perplexed at the visceral effect the sound had on him.

“Oh wow, that’s, ah, that’s great,” Dean chuckled. “Very Woodstock ‘69. Sounds like the guy has awesome taste.”

Castiel gave a wry smile.

“You by yourself now then?” Dean asked, and Castiel furrowed his brows at the obvious question.

“I would have gone home,” he defended himself, “but Gabriel has the only set of keys, I didn’t think to ask for them before he disappeared. I wasn’t expecting him to be gone for so long.”

Dean let out another snicker, the laughter once again warming Castiel’s core. “No problem, we’ll keep you company,” the man reassured him as he leaned in closer, folding his arms beneath him on the sticky bar. “Only one set of keys between two people sounds like a pretty bad idea though.”

“We don’t live together,” Castiel replied, sipping his remaining soda. “I’m house sitting while he’s away on business, it gives me with somewhere to live until I start my postdoctoral fellowship next month.”

Dean hummed, seeming suitably impressed, and brought the beer that Jo, maybe, slid down the bar up to his plump lower lip. Castiel tried not to stare, but was entranced as the man’s tongue swept across the rim of the bottle.

“Sounds fancy, is that here at Kansas U?”

“Oh, no,” Castiel ducked his head, tearing his attention from Dean’s mouth, “It’s out of state. I’ll be based in Harvard from August.”

“ _The_ Harvard?” the man gawked, and Castiel nodded. “Damn, you’re putting my GED to shame here, man,” he chuckled, but it seemed forced and unnatural compared to the unrestrained laughter he’d heard before.

Castiel bit his lip, hoping he hadn’t said the wrong thing and offended the man. He was no education snob, after all. “There’s nothing wrong with a high school education,” he attempted to concile. “But it’s the career opportunity of a lifetime, I suppose.”

“I’ll say. Massachusetts, huh?” Dean whistled, picking at the label on his beer. “That’s one hell of a commute.”

Castiel shrugged, finishing the last of his drink. “I’m not particularly close to the rest of my family, so I don’t have much cause to return to Lawrence. My brother is more likely to visit me, if at all. He loves any excuse to travel.”

“Ah, right.” Castiel watched as the man tore off a section of the label. “So, Gabriel and Castiel?” he sniggered, straightening up and sweeping the paper into the trash can behind the bar. “There’s got to be a story there.”

“Only one of religiously fanatical parents and a lifetime of having to spell out my name. There are six of us actually, and I definitely could have done worse.”

Dean beamed. “Tell me you’ve got a brother called Lucifer.”

“And he lives up to reputation,” Castiel admitted.

The man did an almost comical double take, and Castiel couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re joking.”

“My mother and father may wish that was the case, but unfortunately not. I haven’t seen him for years though, when he turned eighteen he left home and joined Hell’s Angels to infuriate them. Poetic, or so he claimed.”

Dean snorted, cracking a grin. “Guess naming you after the Devil isn't something you can easily forgive your folks for. Damn, that’s one weird ass family you’ve got yourself, Cas.”

Castiel huffed out a laugh, resting his clasped hands on the edge of the bar. “You could say that.”

“And I thought mine were bad,” Dean joked, shaking his head. “Gimme a sec to clean up over here and maybe I'll come buy you another? They’ll cope without me now, I ain’t working anymore overtime on my day off.” He gave a warm, flirtatious grin, and Castiel’s lips curled into a bashful smile.

“I’d like that,” Castiel affirmed, and he was surprised to find it true. Though he'd been incredibly uncomfortable at the idea of anyone taking his solitude as an invitation when Gabriel had left him, he found the idea of Dean’s company much more pleasant.

Castiel watched as the man did a final bar sweep and wiped down the lacquered counter around him, his foot bouncing eagerly on the bottom rung of his stool. He swallowed the nervousness down, and forced his antsy limbs to still as he waited.

“Am I free to go, Ellen?” Dean asked the older woman with a painfully angelic smile.

She rolled her eyes and dismissed him with a wave from her end of the bar. “You’ve done nothing but drink my beer and schmooze your boy for the last twenty minutes, I ain’t blind. Get out of here, clear the way for the real workers.”

“Guilty as charged,” Dean chuckled, saluting her. “I’ll be right back,” he promised Castiel as he made his way around the bar, “just gotta let the gang know I’m ditching ‘em.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, I wouldn’t want to be an inconvenience.”

“Naw, my brother was harping on about the dwindling volcano rabbit population and its effects on the Mexican ecosystem when I left,” he rolled his eyes. “You’re doing me a favor, I swear.”

“They are adorable, their extinction would be a terrible loss,” Castiel called as Dean crossed the bar, laughing at the exasperated look the man threw over his shoulder.

When Jo drifted towards him he ordered two more of the beers Dean had been drinking. He knew that mixing drinks wasn't the best idea he'd ever had, but he couldn't let the man drink alone while he sipped at another soda.

Dean returned swiftly, as promised, but Castiel was disheartened to see that he was no longer alone. Two women he vaguely recognized from earlier hung closely to Dean’s sides as he made way for the vacant stool beside Castiel, and he felt a distinct drop in his stomach as the man flashed them a cocky grin.

Of course he was attracted to women. Statistically, it was to be expected. Castiel cursed his obliviousness to social cues. Clearly Dean had felt obliged to extend his companionship towards a lonely customer, and now Castiel was just going to be an inconvenience.

“Sure we can’t interest you in a beer, tiger?” a particularly curvy brunette asked, hanging off of Dean’s arm, and Castiel couldn’t help the pinched frown he directed at her temple.

“Or a cocktail maybe,” the other woman joined in, shorter with cherry red hair, but no less attractive, he noted downheartedly. “How about a Screaming Orgasm, or a Redheaded Slut?” She let out a shrill giggle, and Castiel shifted uncomfortably on his stool. He debated whether it would be more polite of him to just slip away from the bar and leave.

Dean turned to Castiel with quirked eyebrows, and Castiel smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, I took the liberty of ordering us another drink already. I wasn’t aware you had other company. Should I...?”

The man's lips quirked at the corners, and he sat down close to Castiel with a grin, leaning back lazily against the bar.

“Hell, I’d never turn down a drink from a Harvard man, especially not one as pretty as you,” Dean winked, and Castiel felt his eyes widened in surprise. “Sorry ladies,” Dean shrugged, “I’m taken tonight."

“Your loss,” the girls huffed as they sauntered away. Castiel watched them leave, cheeks flushed.

Dean had called him pretty. Was he attempting to make a joke? The unconventional compliment left him blinking incredulously at the man beside him, and Castiel found himself chewing his lip as Dean turned back to face him.

“Quite the opposite, I’d say,” the man told him with a charming smile.

The unfamiliar sensation from before returned tenfold when Castiel caught the gleam in Dean’s clover eyes, and he gave Dean a timid smile. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, grabbing his beer from the bar and scooting closer until their knees touched. “I am a little pissed, though.”

Castiel frowned. “Why?”

Dean raised an eyebrow, waving his bottle of beer. “I said I was buying drinks”.

“Oh,” Castiel chuckled, relieved. “I’d say you’re welcome to buy the next, but I think I’ve had enough already.”

“You a lightweight, Cas?” Dean smirked, leaning in closer.

“No,” Castiel glared half-heartedly, “I’d like tomorrow to be migraine-free though, if it can be helped.”

Dean chuckled, taking a swig from his bottle. The tanned skin of his throat captured Castiel’s attention for far longer than could be considered a passing glance, and he once again struggled to avert his gaze.

“Well, you know what they say about liquor before beer,” he grinned, quickly finishing the rest of the beer and dumping his bottle behind him on the bar.

Castiel’s face contorted in bemusement. “I don’t think I do?”

“You’re in the clear, Bambi eyes,” Dean smirked, reaching out to tap Castiel lightly on the nose.

“Oh,” Castiel said lamely. His gaze locked on Dean’s lips as they curved at the corners, and the man stared back, boldly challenging, when their eyes met once more. It heated the blood in his veins to a heady simmer.

“Hey, you know the rule, boy,” the older woman cut in from the other side of the bar, swatting at Dean with a menu. “No canoodling at my bar.”

It wasn’t until the interruption that Castiel realized how short the distance between the two of them had become, the man’s charismatic charm once again drawing him in like a moth to a flame.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean pulled away, beaming cheekily at her as she rolled her eyes and walked away. “Wanna get outta here, sweetheart?” he asked Castiel, eyeing him up as if he were something particularly edible.

“Definitely,” Castiel found himself saying, hand shaking as Dean grabbed for it with a grin and pulled him from his stool.

“Put a hold on that burger, Ellen!” he called behind them, turning away.

Mesmerized, Castiel followed Dean’s lead through the crowded bar and through the door into the parking lot out front. Lord, what was he doing? Was he really going to sleep with a man he had just met?

The cool evening air did nothing to abate the boiling under his skin, and when Dean shot him a salacious smirk over his shoulder, he knew he would do absolutely anything the man asked. He only need specify how high Castiel was to jump. He gripped Dean’s hand tighter as they crossed the darkened parking lot towards a gleaming black muscle car.

“This is yours?” Castiel asked as Dean fished his keys out of the pocket of his jeans with his free hand.

“Damn right. She’s my pretty baby, aren’t you, girl?” Dean cooed, separating their joined hands to stroke the hood. “Hop in, gorgeous, this is gonna be the ride of your life,” he grinned, nodding towards the passenger side.

“Do you say that to all the girls?” Castiel huffed a laugh, circling the car and climbing in.

“Only the special ones,” he winked, sliding close to Castiel on the bench seat.

Castiel turned until they were almost touching, every inch of his sensitized body acutely aware of Dean’s proximity. The man’s eyes darted from Castiel’s own down to his lips, and Castiel couldn’t refrain from running his tongue over them in anticipation. They sat so closely that he swore he could feel Dean’s breath on his skin, and the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable, even in the dark car. Castiel’s fingers twitched in his lap for a moment before he worked up the courage to direct them to Dean’s solid chest. Fists clenched tightly in the collar of Dean’s leather jacket, he his heart hammered in his ribcage as he tugged the man in to close the last gap between their bodies.

Dean moaned lowly when their mouths met, hot and needy, and Castiel shivered as the delicious sound vibrated against his lips. His eyelids fluttered when Dean’s hands wrapped around his waist, pulling him even tighter to him, and he didn’t even register his body moving until he realized with startling clarity that he was straddling Dean’s thighs, the heated pressure against the juncture of his thighs a clear, _wonderful_ signal of the man’s arousal.

“Fuck, yeah,” Dean gasped, pulling back to mouth at the hinge of Castiel’s jaw. “Been needin’ to get my hands on you all night.”

Castiel dropped his head back with a low whine as Dean’s hands slipped lower to cup at the roundness of his ass, using the new leverage to grind up against Castiel’s own rapidly growing erection.

“So hot,” the man grunted, laving wet kisses on the sensitive skin of Castiel’s newly exposed neck and nibbling at the juncture of his shoulder.

The rough scrape of Dean’s stubble against him was exhilarating, and he leaned into it eagerly. Strong, roaming hands kneaded his flesh, and his eyelids grew heavy as his breathing turned harsh and abrupt.

“Please,” Castiel begged, though what was asking for, he had no idea. Something, anything. Just _more_. The sensations were utterly overwhelming, and when Dean’s hand slipped below the waistband of his slacks, his brain filled with nothing but static.

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled against his overheated skin. “That’s it, Cas, just like that.”

The searing friction of his pants and the denim of Dean’s jeans against his hardness forced low whimpers from his lips, and Dean hummed contentedly against his skin in response.

This was unlike anything Castiel had ever experienced before, the rising stimulation unworldly; his pulse was racing, his breath forced from his lungs in harsh pants, every inch of his skin in contact with Dean’s blazed. He was going to fall, he was going to lose it in the front seat of a stranger’s car, oh, he was so close, and when Dean bit sharply at the somehow exposed meat of his shoulder, he teetered so close to—

“Cassie, is that _you?_ Well slap my ass and call me Sally, baby bro’s getting down to a little love ‘em and leave ‘em!” Castiel heard his brother jeer through the car’s open window, and he darted away from Dean as if he had been burned, smashing his back into the steering wheel in the process.

“Gabriel,” he growled in warning, turning to glare ferociously at his brother who lounged against the driver’s side of Dean’s car, grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

“I get it, we’re gone, you two may reenact Titanic in peace,” Gabriel beamed suggestively, grabbing onto the particularly rumpled redhead and throwing Castiel the keys through the open car window. “Going back to Moonjava’s place. No sex on anything that can’t be bleached or boil washed!” he sang, and two of them disappeared.

“ _Moonjava,_ ” Dean repeated in disbelief after a moment of silence, and the tension broke as Castiel found himself chuckling along when the man’s shock descended into a howls of laughter. Dean dropped his head to Castiel’s shoulder as he calmed down, and the hot breath against his sensitized skin made Castiel shiver through his sniggers. “I was right,” Dean sighed, traces of amusement in his voice. “Your brother does have awesome taste.”

“If you say so,” Castiel snorted as Dean raised his head and wiped at his eyes.

“Oh man,” he laughed, his hands finding their way back to Castiel’s waist, “that would have been the best thing ever if it wasn’t such a massive cockblock.”

“Sorry,” Castiel grimaced, wiggling closer until he was once again flush to Dean’s chest. It should have been uncomfortable, sitting so awkwardly in a cramped space, but despite the throbbing in his back, Castiel had never felt so perfect.

Dean shrugged, leaning in to capture his tingling mouth once again. The man’s tongue stroked languidly at the seam of Castiel’s lips, and without hesitation he allowed it access, brushing against it with his own. Dean hummed appreciatively at the move and sharply rolled his hips up, so Castiel repeated it, emboldened by the eager reaction. The passion that Gabriel’s presence banished quickly returned, and Castiel couldn’t stop himself from pressing his hips back down onto Dean’s with a low moan.

“Come home with me,” he demanded through a gasped breath, eyes hooded as he rocked against Dean.

“Now we’re talking,” Dean said, leaning back in for a slow, deep kiss before pulling away. “Though as much as I’d love you to stay right where you are, I’m pretty sure I’ll total Baby driving with a distraction like that.”

Castiel nodded in agreement and reluctantly unfolded himself from around Dean, mourning the loss of warmth as he settled back into the passenger side.

“Where we headed, Cas? Promise I’ll get us there pronto.”

“Just off Princeton, Colt Drive?”

“Awesome,” Dean smiled, pulling on his seatbelt and waiting for Castiel to do the same. As he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road, he slid a hand high on Castiel’s thigh and squeezed teasingly, smirking at the way the touch made him fidget on the seat.

As the short drive progressed, Castiel’s mind wandered and his nerves began to creep back to him. He could do this, couldn’t he? Sleep with a man he’d only just met, and then move on as if nothing had happened?

“Oh. Second building on the left up here,” he mumbled as they pulled up to Gabriel’s apartment, the journey having flown by as Castiel lost himself in his worries. The car came to a stop in the parking space out front, and Dean met Castiel’s concerned frown with eyebrows raised as he shut off the engine.

“You getting cold feet, doll?”

“No! No, not at all,” Castiel stumbled over his words, undoing his seatbelt. “It’s just, I’ve never— you know, never done it like this before.”

“Oh,” the man smiled, grabbing his keys and shifting closer. Despite his nerves, Castiel moved towards him, eyes fluttering closed as Dean leaned in to press a kiss against his lips.

“Don’t you worry, Cas, I’ve got more than enough experience for the both of us,” he grinned cockily as they parted, and Castiel wished he could say Dean’s blatant arrogance didn’t fuel the fire burning low in his stomach. “I’ve got a reputation for givin’ out good times.”

A lump formed in Castiel’s throat at the insinuation, but he thoroughly ignored the unpleasant sensation, instead focusing on the plump lips once again sucking and nibbling at the base of his neck. So what if their tryst was to be insignificant and meaningless? He could allow himself this one night to throw caution to the wind and damn the consequences. With that firmly in mind, Castiel threaded his fingers through the silky hair at the base of Dean’s neck and guided his head up, bringing their foreheads together.

“Then prove it,” he grunted, catching the heated glaze of green eyes for a fleeting moment before he crashed their kiss-swollen lips together once more. They scrabbled for the car door, Castiel refusing to let go for even a second, and it took a few fumbled attempts but finally Dean reached the door handle and pulled him out of the car, hurrying to lock it behind them.

Together they stumbled to the main door, and after a moment of hunting around in the pockets of his coat with a hand he reluctantly untangled from Dean’s hair, he found Gabriel’s keys and they tumbled inside.

Castiel went weak at the knees when Dean’s teeth tugged at his bruised lower lip, and if it wasn’t for the arms tightly secured around him, he might have tripped as they awkwardly attempted to climbed the stairs.

Finally, when the door to Gabriel’s apartment was in sight, Castiel bravely detached himself from Dean in favor of grabbing his hand and tugging him through the front door.

As soon as the door was closed behind them Dean pounced, shoving Castiel up against the firm wood and returning his attention to Castiel’s wet lips with a fury. Hands frantically pulled at his trench coat, dragging it down his arms and dropping it to a crumpled heap at their feet, and Castiel struggled to rid Dean of his soft leather jacket in return.

He gasped into Dean’s mouth as the man slipped a firm thigh between Castiel’s legs, grinding against his throbbing erection as it strained in his slacks. Surely, Castiel thought, this is how he was going to die. He’d asphyxiate, or heat exhaustion would get him, or maybe his heart would just give out, but he was sure there was no surviving sensations so painfully euphoric. His hips rocked into the solid muscle, and every drag against his constrained hardness had him crying out against Dean’s lips.

Somehow, Dean had managed to open his dress shirt the rest of the way, and he pushed it along with his suit jacket off of his shoulders, hauling Castiel with him by his half-undone tie as he backed up along the hallway.

“Bedroom?” Dean panted wetly against his mouth, slipping the tie from around his neck, and Castiel couldn’t stop the whine that escaped him at the loss of friction. “This tango’s awesome but hell, wait till I show you the horizontal variation.”

“This way,” he grunted, dumping his jacket and shirt on the floor and pulling off Dean’s plaid shirt before hastily leading him towards the guest room. Dean remained glued to his back, running his hands over Castiel’s exposed chest, one dipping down to stroke his cock through his tented pants as he sucked kisses into the back of Castiel’s neck.

“Oh, fuck,” Castiel whimpered, stopping in his doorway to buck up into the heel of Dean’s palm.

“I knew I could get you to curse,” Dean teased, pulling at Castiel’s earlobe with his teeth and undoing the button on Castiel’s slacks. “Now, I need you spread out on that bed right this second or I’m gonna lose it.”

Castiel choked out a moan and scrambled onto the bed, Dean quickly moving to hover over him and pin him on his back as he nuzzled the hollow of Castiel’s throat.

“You’re wearing too much,” Castiel growled, shaking hands clawing at Dean’s T-shirt. “Off,” he ordered throatily, buzzing with satisfaction as he watched Dean yank the offending cotton over his head and throw it carelessly behind him. This time, when he leaned in to recapture Castiel’s mouth, his skin met bare, overheated skin and Castiel mewled at the contact, grasping tightly at Dean’s beautifully toned back.

His thighs spread of their volition and Dean’s hips settled perfectly between them, the friction of their rutting even more heavenly now Castiel could properly open up to him. Dean sucked sharply at his neck with every roll of his pelvis, and god, Castiel loved it. He wanted Dean to cover his body in possessive bruises, until there wasn’t an inch of untouched, unblemished skin.

“I need you outta these pants,” Dean grunted, pulling back to yank at Castiel’s zipper. Castiel lifted his hips the best he could to facilitate their removal, but that served only to press him firmly against Dean’s hot hand, doing nothing to disperse the haze in his brain. Eventually they managed to coordinate themselves enough for Dean to rid Castiel of both his slacks and boxers, and before he had time to even consider being self-conscious, Dean dragged him up into a heated kiss.

“Gorgeous, so perfect for me,” he murmured, breaking away only far enough to strip his own jeans and underwear and hastily return to his space between Castiel’s naked legs.

The only light that hit the room was what slipped in through the open curtains from the streetlamps outside, but despite his limited sight, there was so much for Castiel to feel. He was keenly aware of every press of skin as the man settled atop of him, and his hands scrambled to grasp at those deliciously muscular arms for some kind of leverage when Dean’s hot, solid cock bumped against his own.

The whine Castiel let out was pitiful, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

With the hand that wasn’t supporting his weight above Castiel, Dean grabbed for Castiel’s thigh, hitching it up high around his waist as his hips shallowly thrust.

“Nng, oh,” Castiel jerked, wrapping his ankles tightly behind the man’s back, desperately trying to drag him closer.

“Fuck, Cas. God, yeah, like that,” Dean said as Castiel bucked up into the downward thrusts of his hips. “Lube?” he croaked out against the sweat-slicked skin of Castiel’s throat.

“Top drawer,” Castiel wheezed, matted hair sticking to his forehead as he writhed. There was no time for doubts now, not that he thought he could have worried if he’d wanted to. Every ounce of brain power was consumed with nothing but Dean and _more_. He continued to grind his engorged cock up against Dean’s as the man blindly rifled around the drawer.

“I wish I could taste every goddamn inch of you, fuck, do I, but I need you so bad, Cas,” he groaned into Castiel’s neck, and Castiel shivered when he heard the distinctive snick of the lubricant tube opening.

They were really doing this. Maybe Castiel should have been more prepared, he didn’t even own any condoms, should he have—?

But his brief panic was abruptly cut off by the heady sensation of a warm, calloused hand sweeping the lubricant along his shaft until it was slick, and he let out a harsh puff of choked breath at the sudden stimulation.

“Dean, what—” he managed to stutter, but Dean cut him off with a nip at his tender lip.

“Shh, trust me,” he crooned through a gasp, and Castiel’s eyes rolled back into his head when Dean pressed their cocks together firmly, his hand forming a tight, wet channel around them to thrust into.

“Yes, oh, oh _please_ ,” Castiel trembled, nails digging into Dean’s heated back as he clawed for purchase.

Dean dropped down onto his elbow, resting his forehead against Castiel’s as he stroked them. “Shit, your cock feels so good against mine, Cas, so hot and hard in my hand. C’mon,” he urged, fighting for breath, “I know you got in it you, firecracker. Show me whatcha got.”

“Dean,” Castiel shuddered, losing himself in the torturous rapture as he allowed his hips freedom to buck, his cock rubbing perfectly against Dean’s.

“That’s it, so good for me,” Dean praised, stroking their lengths tightly in his fist, prompting Castiel to thrust alongside him with every downward sweep. They quickly found a harmonious rhythm, and Castiel cried out with every twist of Dean’s hand around the leaking head of his hypersensitive prick.

“I don’t—” he sobbed, his head thrashing uselessly and his free hand tearing at the sheets. “I— I’m going to—”

“Let go,” Dean demanded, breath coming out harsh against Castiel’s open mouth. “It’s okay, babe, I gotcha. Let go for me.”

Every muscle in his body clamped down tightly, and his thighs seized around Dean’s hips as his back arched, head thrown back into the pillows as he wailed out his climax.

“Cas, oh fuck,” Dean grunted, his hips stuttering in a frenzy as his grip on their cocks tightened and he frantically worked Castiel through his aftershocks.

White-hot wetness hit his stomach and chest, but Castiel was almost too far gone to even notice, let alone care as his fingers clamped down on Dean’s slick skin.

“Shit, so perfect,” Dean choked against Castiel’s chapped lips, shaking through the last waves of his orgasm before collapsing down onto Castiel’s chest.

Castiel clung tightly to him, their legs hopelessly entwined as they fought to regain their breath. The euphoria flowed through Castiel’s rushing bloodstream to every cell, and even with Dean’s deadweight pressing down on him, he might as well have been floating for all the white noise in his head.

Dean’s limp arms came around him, and the man’s nose nuzzled languidly against the base of his throat. Castiel sighed in complete and utter contentment, sinking deeper into Dean’s embrace as he drifted.

This wasn’t the end, he promised himself as sleep engulfed him, a slow smile spreading across his battered lips when he buried his nose in Dean’s hair. He just couldn’t let it be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates might not be as frequent as I'd like but 6/10 chapters are ready to post, so (fingers crossed) there shouldn't be too many delays! Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, stick around for more angst, feels and gratuitous smut :D
> 
> Plot inspired by one of Erin Hanson's awesome poems, 'I love you too' > http://thepoeticunderground.com/post/79516914977/i-love-you-too-march-14th-want-to-buy-my


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovelies, causidicus and sunshinewinchesters, for helping me out! 
> 
> Sorry about the delay with this chapter, I've had some pretty nasty tonsillitis but am finally feeling more like myself so the smut's back on :D

Castiel curled himself more tightly into the cocoon of his sheets as the last vestiges of sleep fell away. His muscles protested at the movement — there was a definite ache in his lower back, but the throbbing was pleasant. A lazy grin spread across his face as the memories of the previous night slowly slipped to the forefront of his mind.

Dean. The bright eyed, cocky Adonis who had torn Castiel’s inhibitions down to their foundations and shown him just how much had been lacking from the scarce dalliances he had engaged in before. Castiel had no idea sex could be so wonderful, so utterly devoid of awkwardness and discomfort.

He allowed himself a moment to enjoy an indulgent stretch, not quite ready to open his eyes to the light flooding in through the open curtains, and with the rush of endorphins that came with the relaxation of his abused muscles, he squirmed towards Dean.

When his hands came upon cold, crumpled sheets, he cracked his sleep-bleary eyes open.

A sick, roiling sensation hit low in Castiel’s stomach as he scrambled to sit up, an uneasy combination of dread and last night’s alcoholic concoctions forcing him to measure his breaths and clutch at the sheets around him for stability. He swallowed back the nausea with a groan, and cautiously slid to the edge of the bed, bringing himself to stand without jostling his unsettled stomach.

Maybe Dean was just in the bathroom, his addled brain suggested to him as he padded out into the hallway.

But it was empty.

The only evidence at all of their tryst was the breadcrumb trail of Castiel’s clothes that scattered the hall. If the absence of Dean’s hastily removed plaid shirt and shucked shoes weren’t clear proof enough, the empty parking lot Castiel glanced at through the kitchen window was irrefutable. He was gone.

Castiel gripped tightly at the breakfast bar, his eyes unseeing as he worked through the surprisingly powerful grief the realization brought him.

He allowed himself a few minutes to collect his scattered thoughts before forcing himself to sip at a glass of water and take some painkillers to ward off the throbbing in his temples. Belatedly, he realized that the air around him was particularly chilly — he hadn’t even bothered to put on any underwear before leaving the bed.

Thank goodness Gabriel hadn’t come home early.

Castiel distractedly traced his way back to the guest bedroom, taking steadying breaths through his nose every time he bent down to retrieve a crumpled item of clothing. The sight of the ruined sheets dropped like a stone to the pit of his uneasy stomach.

It was a casual encounter. Dean had never even hinted at more. And that was polite hookup etiquette, wasn’t it? To leave before the host awoke, and avoid creating an uncomfortable atmosphere for all? Yes, he supposed. He didn't really know. Without the cloud of alcohol, Castiel would probably have nothing in common with the man, the spark between them more imagined than anything, and waking up to him would have been nothing but awkward. He should be thankful that Dean had decided to leave when he had. It was for the best — this way, Castiel could look back on the memory as something pleasant but transitory, a form of consequence-free stress relief.

Love ‘em and leave ‘em, as Gabriel had eloquently predicted.

Castiel sighed as he threw open the windows to let fresh breeze wash away the pheromones hanging thickly in the air. With new determination, he began to strip the bedsheets.

People did this sort of thing all the time, and if they could, with neither remorse nor regret, Castiel could too.

All he needed to rid himself of the odd twinge in his chest was a hot shower and clean sheets.

 

* * *

 

It had been two weeks since Gabriel had strolled into the apartment for the final time to collect his luggage, donning an obnoxious tie-dye shirt so obviously not cut for his body that Castiel grimaced in discomfort, and a lecherous grin that made the entire experience even worse. He made no comment on Castiel’s partner from the previous night, more eager to share the salacious details of Moonjava’s malleability, which — unpleasant though it was — he was endlessly thankful for. With a wink and an order not to do anything Gabriel wouldn’t in his absence, Castiel’s brother headed off to Los Angeles, leaving him decidedly alone.

Well, he had the contents of Gabriel’s exotic fish tank for company. What they lacked in companionship they made up for in serene beauty, so Castiel was content. After all, he had the career opportunity of a lifetime to prepare for, so the silence was conducive to good research hours, even if it made him more aware of the emptiness of the large apartment than he ever thought he would be.

It hardly mattered. He would be spending most of his waking hours at the library, anyway. Just as he was now — the comfortable study section he had maintained ownership of since early that morning was piled high with textbooks, academic journals, his laptop and his once full coffee flask. Castiel was pleased with his progress for the week; it was amazing how much he could get done when he really focused, and Gabriel wasn’t dancing around for attention in the corner of his eye like a neglected child. He had made his way through a good portion of the preliminary research and even started on his own personal reading. If he kept up the pace, he would be in the ideal position for the start of his placement.

Castiel almost dismissed the rumblings of his stomach as he leafed through the pages of _The Biblical Archaeologist_ backcopies, but the interruption reminded him he hadn’t actually eaten anything since the bagel he’d forced down for lunch. It was then he realized he had lost track of time completely, and wasn’t sure what the hour even was at that point — there were no windows in the corner his table was nestled in, and the artificial lighting hadn’t faltered since his arrival at six a.m.

He rolled up his shirt sleeve to check his watch, reeling slightly upon discovering he’d lost almost five hours since he had last looked. Castiel had been so deep in referencing and cataloguing his research that somehow six p.m. had slipped away into past eleven. He frowned, piling up textbooks to return to their shelves. The food supply in Gabriel’s apartment was starting to run low so he had meant to detour to the store to replenish the basics on his way home, though he doubted anywhere but Wal-Mart would be open now.

As he packed away his things, he wondered whether anyone would be willing to deliver food to him at such a late hour.

Castiel sighed, putting the ache in his stomach out of mind for now as he nodded to the security guard manning the automatic doors at the front. He would worry about that when he made it home.

His Lincoln Continental was one of the only few cars left in the parking lot this late, and he hastily made his way over to it and climbed inside, eager to get back to Gabriel’s. He deposited his heavy bag on the passenger seat and put his key in the ignition, frowning at the ‘check engine’ light which had been coming up intermittently on his dash ever since he’d arrived in Lawrence. Gabriel had briefly peered under his hood and deemed it a faulty warning light, and though he’d been meaning to take it to a garage to be sure, he kept forgetting.

With a prayer that his poor car would be alright, he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the empty street. A mile down the road, Castiel’s attention was caught by a distinctive popping sound coming from the front of the car, and he began to panic as the acceleration dropped, and the thermostat warning light appeared. Hastily, he pulled up at the side of the darkened road and cut the engine so he could get out, warily approaching the now-smoking hood.

So much for a faulty light, he frowned, fishing his cellphone out of the pocket of his coat. A thrill of dread ran through him when the screen refused to illuminate, and he held down the power button, trying not to worry.

No, the battery was definitely dead. How could that be, he panicked, when last time he’d checked it was at least a quarter full? What was he going to do? Not a single car had passed him since he’d stopped, and he began to think that he would need to abandon his car and walk until he found anywhere open that could help. He wasn’t too far out of town, maybe an hour’s trek, but what were the chances of anyone being around so late?

Castiel was deep in panic, shivering in the cool night air when he caught sight of an approaching pair of headlights, and he nearly cried with relief. A truck pulled up behind him and a bearded man climbed out, coming over to Castiel’s car.

“You alright, mister?” the man asked as he approached, and Castiel gave him a tight smile.

“Not really. Is there any chance I could borrow your cellphone, sir?” Castiel asked him. “I seem to be having some car troubles, and mine’s out of battery.”

“I’ll do you one better,” the man replied with a gruff smile, holding out his hand for Castiel to shake. “Bobby Singer, owner of Singer Auto, few miles into town. Lemme take a look at her for you.”

He rounded the car and headed for the front, grabbing a torch out of his pocket. “I can’t thank you enough,” Castiel sighed in relief. Maybe he wasn’t quite as unlucky as he had first thought, at least the first person to stop hadn't wanted to rob him.

“You might want to hold out on the gushing,” the man said with a low whistle as he cautiously popped the hood. “Engine’s overheated, there ain’t much I can do for ya out here. If we caught it early it should be a pretty easy fix, depending, but we’ll have to take her into the garage. I’ll give you a ride in, we can hitch your car up to my truck.”

“You’re my savior, Mr. Singer,” Castiel smiled, running a hand through his stress-raked hair. “I thought I would be stuck here all night.”

“Naw, the folks ‘round here are decent enough. If I hadn’t crossed your path, someone else would have stopped to help you out.”

“Even so, I’m grateful that you did,” Castiel said, following Bobby to his truck. The man maneuvered in front of Castiel’s Lincoln and hopped out to hitch it up onto the tow hook and winch up the front.

The journey was brief, much more so than if Castiel had needed to walk it, and Bobby was pleasant enough company for the short ride. The truck slowed to a stop in the front bays of a brightly lit garage, and Castiel climbed out after Bobby, stopping to grab his belongings from the car and hand over his keys.

“Can’t do anything for her tonight,” Bobby said as he lead him to the main door, “but I’ll get my guys on it in the morning. Just lemme get your details and we’ll give y’a call as soon as we know what’s the problem,” he smiled briefly, going to open the garage.

The man cocked an eyebrow when the key refused to turn in the lock, and with a roll of his eyes he shoved it back into his pocket and threw up the already unlocked shutter. Castiel stood behind him so his view was mostly blocked, but he could clearly see the legs sticking out from under a jacked up car in one of the bays.

“Pray to god that’s the bottom half of a bow-legged burglar I can see, because if you’re still here working on that Mustang I will personally kick your ass, boy.”

A dissatisfied grumble came from under the car, but the grinding sound of the ratchet continued on uninterrupted. Bobby grunted with a scowl and headed for the car, dragging the man out by his legs, ignoring the indignant yelp that followed.

“Picked up a breakdown a mile out, you’d better be here bright and early working on it, ya idjit. Get your ass to bed before you pass out on my creeper, and drive Mr. Novak home on your way.”

“You’re such a grouch, Bobby, you should be pleased I’m putting in the extra hours,” the man groused, and Castiel froze at the deep, distinctive drawl. “I’ll be back at eight, Scout’s honor.”

He remained stuck in his spot outside the garage, eyes wide in panic as the two men conversed. God, there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, of all the nights and all the garages —

“Yeah, yeah,” Bobby muttered, shoving lightly at Dean’s shoulder. “Get out of here before I make you, kid.”

Dean chuckled, a painfully familiar sound, and turned towards him with a shake of his head. “So where’m I droppin’ ya, Mr.—” he began, but when he caught sight of Castiel frozen there like a deer in headlights, his words tailed off into silence. “Oh.” Shock painted his face for a second, but it quickly dropped into an impassive stare.

“I—- I’ll call a cab,” Castiel stuttered, swallowing anxiously. “I wouldn’t want to put anyone out.”

“Nonsense,” Bobby cut in, “You said off Princeton, right? That’s right on Dean’s way. Go on,” he ushered Dean, shutting off the lights and setting the alarm. “And Jesus, get yourself a shower, kid,” he huffed at the grease smearing Dean’s hands and face, as Dean fumbled to shed his filthy jumpsuit.

“I— yeah. Will do,” Dean cleared his throat. “See ya tomorrow, Bobby.”

With a nod in his direction Dean led him towards the Impala, his walk holding no resemblance to the easy, confident swagger Castiel had been enamored with before. Castiel hesitated a second before resolving to follow, climbing into the passenger seat beside Dean. He could survive a short car journey, of course he could.

Except it was worse than that, wasn’t it? When the door shut behind him he was hit with a deluge of sense memories, the overpowering scent of leather and spices triggering visions he had done his utmost to forget. The way his fingers had curled into the headrest behind Dean as Castiel wrapped tightly around him, pressing their bodies so close that not an inch of space remained between them. The press of the steering wheel in his back as Dean’s tongue laved at his neck.

Castiel grimaced as Dean cleared his throat, bringing him back to the awkward moment.

“Look, about the other week—” the man began.

“It’s fine, Dean,” he quickly cut in. “It was a one time thing, and it’s done. I’m more than happy to put it behind us to prevent our... working relationship from being uncomfortable. I appreciate you driving me home.” Castiel cursed his inability to lie convincingly, the way the words came out wooden and flat.

“No problem,” Dean replied blankly, staring out the windshield as he drove. Castiel tried to keep his gaze glued on the road, but if he snuck a few sideways glances at Dean’s profile, then it was only to check that the man wasn’t showing visible signs of anger or disgust.

He forcibly blinked away stuttered memories of the way that rough, chiseled jaw felt between his lips.

“I didn’t know you were a mechanic,” he mumbled in attempts to curb his wandering thoughts, and turned to look out of the passenger window at the darkness.

“Yeah, no,” Dean began, “The Roadhouse gang are family friends, so I help out when they need it. I’m not actually a bartender.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, and the silence returned once more, punctuated only by the growl of the car’s engine and the wind whipping at the windows.

“So,” Dean cleared his throat awkwardly a few minutes later. “What were you doing out this late? Not that it’s my business— or that you can’t, I just—”

“I was at the library,” Castiel murmured with a shrug. “I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

“Ah. Hitting the books hard for Harvard, right?” he laughed, but the sound was uneasy and forced.

“Indeed,” Castiel agreed, shifting in his seat to move as far away as the seatbelt would allow him.

Lord, let them arrive at the apartment. He couldn’t wait to escape, Dean clearly hadn’t wanted to ever see him again — the atmosphere was so tense that Castiel was ready to open the door and throw himself out of it. He cursed himself for not insisting on taking a cab; there was self-destruction, but this was just ridiculous.

Shutting away the intense, disjointed memories had been hard enough before.

They spent the rest of the dragging journey in terse silence, punctuated every now and then by a stifled yawn on Dean’s behalf. Castiel snuck a glance at his watch in the low light — it was after midnight now. No wonder the man was tired, especially if he had been working all day. Castiel was running only on caffeine, himself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they turned onto Gabriel’s street, and he let out a heavy breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. He folded his hands in his lap as he waited for Dean to pull up outside of the apartment, brows furrowing at the man’s more and more frequent yawns.

“Thank you, again, Dean,” Castiel said, opening the car door as it rolled to a stop and grabbing his bag. As the streetlamps flooded the car with light, he could clearly see the exhaustion on Dean’s face, and he frowned, something stopping him from walking away. “Is— could I make you some coffee for the road? I’d hate for you to suffer through your journey home because you had to make a detour for me.”

“Naw, it was no trouble, I’ll be fine—” Dean began to say, but the end of his sentence was lost into a gargantuan yawn.

Castiel raised an eyebrow in doubt, and waited in the open door.

Dean rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Well, maybe I should. It’s not too far, but I wouldn’t wanna be falling asleep at the wheel, ya know. Couldn’t do that to my best girl.”

“Sure,” Castiel nodded, tight lipped. “Would you like to come inside while the coffee brews?”

What was he doing? Inside? He should have thanked Dean and fled the second his car stopped, getting as far away as possible until his sanity returned, and yet here he was, doing the absolute opposite.

“Uh, yeah, okay. Thanks, Castiel.”

 _Castiel._ Somehow his name seemed cold and mechanical coming from the man’s mouth now, the absence of his nickname a bitter sting that left Castiel gritting his teeth.

“It’s no trouble,” he echoed Dean’s words back to him as he dazedly led the way to the main door.

How masochistic could one man get, he wondered. Of all of Castiel’s bad ideas, this was probably the worst. He turned a blind eye to the pain in his chest as he unlocked the door, the gnawing feeling of being so close and yet further than ever from what his body craved, and needlessly escorted Dean up the stairs to the door of the apartment.

Castiel hurried through the hallway, refusing to look back as he heard Dean shut the door behind them, and marched towards the kitchen with his head down. He busied himself with the coffee maker, unwilling to turn around and catch sight of Dean leaning against the doorframe in a mockery of the way he had pressed Castiel tightly against it, their hips grinding together sensuously as their lips fought for dominance, Dean’s restless hands slipping down his sides, eagerly seeking out the round flesh of Castiel’s—

No, he forbid himself, flushed cheeks betraying his illicit thoughts. It was over. Coffee grounds in the filter, filter in the basket. Machine on. He took his favorite thermos from his bag and thoroughly washed it out in the sink as the coffee maker whirred at his side, and as soon as it was rinsed free of bubbles, he headed straight back to the counter, fists clenching and unclenching anxiously at his sides.

He stiffened when he heard Dean’s quiet sigh, and the sound of footsteps as he entered the room.

“I’m sorry, It won’t be much longer, it just takes a moment once—” he stuttered out, flustered stare burning a hole in the counter.

Stupid, so stupid and self-destructive, his brain yelled at him as he stayed frozen in place, fixated on the now silent coffee maker.

“Cas?” Dean called tentatively from behind him, and eyes slipping closed in resignation, Castiel turned.

He could feel how close the man was standing without needing to see; Castiel’s body yearned to luxuriate in the intoxicating heat radiating from Dean, his unique cologne, entwined with sweat and engine grease, making Castiel’s mouth water. Subdued, he let his eyes open, instantly catching Dean’s. The man’s face was painted with something indescribable, expression hard but eyes pleading. He tentatively leaned forward, until he was near enough to frame Castiel’s hips with the hands he placed on the worktop behind him, the tips of their noses almost brushing when he contritely dipped his head.

“Cas,” Dean tried again, voice wavering as he peered up at Castiel from under his lashes, no trace of his previous cocky bravado. “I—”

“It’s okay,” Castiel said, trying to resist Dean’s agonizing allure and failing so miserably, finding himself gravitating into Dean’s warmth like a meteor into a sun.

“It’s not, I...” Dean breathed against the skin of his trembling lips, and Castiel swallowed painfully as their mouths brushed. “I don’t know what I’m doing. You show up looking like this, too good to be true, with your sex hair and your—”

“ _Don’t,_ ” he despaired, cutting off any further false declarations. He couldn’t bear them, knowing they were nothing but counterfeits, charming words as empty as they had been the first time they’d met. He couldn’t get himself caught up in this, couldn’t do it all over again. “I can’t,” he winced, turning away from Dean’s mouth, from everything he wanted.

There was a moment of silence, punctuated only with their heavy breath. “Yeah, right. Of course,” Dean cleared his throat as he pulled back, the loss of contact physically painful. “I’m gonna— yeah,” he muttered thickly, disentangling himself from Castiel and stepping back, running a hand haphazardly through his hair.

Castiel wanted nothing more than to stop him, grab him tightly, do anything to prevent him — all he’d been desperately pining for — from walking away but he couldn’t, it was a terrible idea and so dangerous, Dean had slept with who knows how many others, and—

“Dean,” Castiel called out, sucking in a shaky breath as his reason and desire revolted against one another. “Wait.”

The man stopped in his tracks and turned to face him, green eyes so earnest that it hurt Castiel’s heart. Barely having put up a fight, Castiel’s resolve shattered.

With determination he crossed the kitchen, reaching for Dean and resolutely pulling him back into his grasp, the hand cupping his skull pulling him brazenly to Castiel’s mouth. His tongue prised apart Dean’s plump lips, and the man relented easily, hands gripping tightly at Castiel’s waist.

He was a mess, and he eagerly poured every drop of turmoil into the man’s mouth. Their teeth clacked forcefully, but he was an addict getting a fix, and he just couldn’t stop himself.

Once more, he promised himself. It’ll be out of your system after this.

Dean moaned against him, hands sliding down to grasp tightly at Castiel’s clothed ass, tugging him flush to Dean’s hips. Before he knew what was happening, Dean had his back pressed against the wall and curled a hand behind his knee, hitching it up around the man’s narrow hip. His breath came out in harsh pants around Dean’s tongue at the maddening new contact.

“Bed,” Castiel managed to gasp into the man’s mouth, and Dean grunted his assent, wrapping a hand under Castiel’s supporting leg and lifting him off the floor entirely, hips pressing him irresistibly into the wall. “Dean—” he flailed, eyes wide, but the man cut him off with a heady kiss.

“Trust me,” his voice rumbled against Castiel’s swollen lips, and Dean pulled them away from the wall, barely faltering as he took the brunt of Castiel’s body weight.

That infuriating demand again — how could he ever trust him? Right then Castiel couldn’t care less, instinctively crossing his ankles at Dean’s back and wrapping his arms tightly around his neck, addicted to the feel of Dean’s lips on his throat and jaw as he blindly navigated them towards the guest room.

His arm strength lasted long enough for them to reach the bed, and they collapsed gracelessly on the mattress, Castiel’s fingers threading roughly through Dean’s hair to pull him back in for a deep kiss.

Dean’s hands tore at his shirt, pulling until it hung open at Castiel’s sides, his tie draped messily over his bare chest, and this time when he retreated, it was to direct his lips to the newly healed skin of Castiel’s throat. Castiel’s head dropped back with a grunt as Dean’s tongue trailed his collarbone and down his pectoral muscles. A hand fumbled with his belt, and then was dipping into his boxers, stroking the heated skin of Castiel’s erection. His eyes fluttered as he groaned, savoring the touch of the beautifully calloused hands.

Suddenly, a hot, wet suction surrounded his nipple, and Castiel’s hips bucked of their own accord, his back arching as he whined. Its sensitivity sent his head reeling — when Dean uncovered his teeth and nipped lightly at the hardened flesh Castiel cried out, hands constricting in Dean’s hair.

When he could no longer stand the overwhelming teasing, he pushed firmly at the man’s chest to roll him over, clambering on top until he was able to straddle Dean’s hips. The man moaned lowly when their cocks came into contact, hands wrapping tightly around the muscle of Castiel’s upper thighs in the most intoxicating of ways.

Castiel forced his heavy eyelids to open so he could gaze down at Dean, looking as debauched as he felt — hair in a mess from Castiel’s fingers, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy and lips puffy and wet — and the sight made Castiel’s erection throb as he ground down against the man’s hips.

“Fuck, Cas—” Dean panted, eyes wide, but Castiel cut him off, tongue plundering his swollen lips.

Dean’s fingers tightened bruisingly around his thighs as they moved together, and the sharp ache ratcheted his arousal up higher, letting out a pleasured whimper into Dean’s hot mouth as his prick was encased in the tight friction between their bodies. With every downward thrust of Castiel’s hips, Dean bucked up to meet him, his aborted gasps stealing the breath from Castiel’s own lungs.

The sensation was electrifying, the rhythmic grinding of their bodies pushing him closer and closer to the edge. Dean’s eyes were glazed with need, and when Castiel ducked his head to lave at the soft skin of his throat, he could have sworn there was reverence in the desperate look Dean gave him.

A few more pointed thrusts and the beautiful man beneath him was tensing, back bowing into the mattress as he growled, and the slick pulse of heat that coated his chest and cock was enough to push Castiel over the edge with him. His nails dug sharply into the palms of his hands as his orgasm crashed through him in waves, and as the aftershocks subsided, he slumped across Dean, too wrung out to will his limbs to move away.

He lay there bonelessly, the warnings in his head blissfully silenced, listening to the sounds of their racing breath as the air cooled the sweat on his overheated skin. By the time he mustered up the energy to move, Dean had already succumbed to the pull of sleep, his chest rising and falling in time with his low, rumbling snores. Ignoring the ache deep in his chest, Castiel relented to the tightening of the man’s arms around him and selfishly, stupidly indulged in the illusion, curling up around Dean and burying himself in the warmth.

Gods, he was in so much trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to everyone for reading, subscribing, commenting, bookmarking, leaving kudos and so on, you guys are awesome. See you in the next few days!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ever so much to causidicus and sunshinewinchesters <3

When Castiel drifted into consciousness he was warm, so perfectly warm. He burrowed his nose deeper into the soft, musky pillow he rested on, tightening his arms around the heated mass he was clinging to. He had found heaven, and could never be persuaded to move again. He inhaled deeply, chasing the ambrosial scent that caressed his sleepy senses.

Castiel could have happily fallen back into the peaceful abyss, and was well on his way until the pillow beneath his nuzzling cheek shifted.

Every muscle in his body went from blissed out to painfully rigid, and the breath caught in his lungs as he cracked open an eye. The bright green eyes he’d been trying to forget all week stared right back at him, Dean’s brows furrowed and a slight frown gracing his lips as he watched Castiel wake.

He darted away from the man, tearing his arms from around his torso and scrambling away, almost falling off the bed in the process.

“I’m so sorry,” he babbled, running a hand through his disarrayed hair and pulling the sheet up to cover himself. “I know it’s not— I understand that this isn’t any more than sex, I— I must just gravitate towards warmth. Gabriel’s air conditioning is too efficient and I’m not sure how to turn it off so it gets pretty cold and I didn’t mean to, I—”

“It’s okay,” Dean cut in, but his frown deepened, and Castiel felt even more stupid. “I ah, I guess I double up as a pretty good space heater. Glad I could be of service,” he attempted to joke with a chuckle. Castiel forced a smile, but it felt as weak and pathetic as he did.

He wished his body didn’t feel so euphoric, that his heart didn’t flutter so joyously when Dean threw a small smile his way in return.

“Would you like some breakfast? I don’t have much but there is coffee — well I never got round to finishing the last batch,” he flushed, and Dean chuckled once again, this time the laughter brightened his face.

“That’s real nice of you, but I can’t,” he replied, and Castiel tried to hide it when his face fell.

“Right,” he swallowed, expression hardening as he clambered for something to cover him when he got out of bed. “You’re welcome to use the bathroom before you leave.”

“Wait, no,” Dean called out, grabbing onto his wrist. “It’s just that it’s seven and I need to get a look at your car. I gave my word I wouldn’t be late, the grumpy bastard wasn’t joking when he said he’d kick my ass.”

Castiel’s grimace softened slightly at the man’s attempt at puppy eyes. “Okay.”

“I— we’ll call you as soon as we know what’s up, if it’s just an overheat we should have her up and running in no time.”

“Thank you,” Castiel replied, the turn in the conversation making him feel even more uncomfortable about his state of undress. “Though you probably should take a shower before you leave if you plan on going straight to work. The sheets collected the worst of the grease, but I’m not sure that’s what Mr. Singer intended when he advised you wash.”

As if seeing them for the first time, Dean glanced down at the grease-soiled sheets in horror. “Oh shit, Jesus, Cas, I’m sorry. I’ll foot the dry cleaning bill, of course — man, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Castiel placated. “I have plenty of spares. They weren’t expensive.”

“God, that’s so smooth of me,” Dean sighed, scrubbing his face in his hands. He glanced up at Castiel, and a small smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. “You ah, you might want a shower too. Looks like the sheets weren’t what got the worst after all.”

Castiel glanced down at himself, eyes widening at the grease smeared all over his chest and thighs.

Dean bit his lip to smother a laugh. “There’s a bit on your face. I must be blind to it by now.”

“Great,” Castiel huffed out a smile. “You go first, I don’t have anywhere to be today, so I can suffer a bit longer looking like a chimney sweep. First door on the right.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean smiled as he headed to the bathroom.

As soon as he heard the door lock, Castiel dropped face down into the newly ruined sheets. Lord help him, he was in so much trouble.

Dean left soon after his shower, redressing in his clothes from the night before and heading for his car with a bashful smile and a promise that Castiel’s car would be right as rain in no time. A small part of Castiel didn’t mind if the old Continental had been blown to smithereens, as long as he could see that smile again.

With a sigh at his own ridiculousness, he forced himself into the shower and scrubbed his skin raw, until only the faintest trace of darkened handprints smeared his stomach and thighs.

That was it, he assured himself. They were done. Now it was purely professional.

Later that morning, Castiel settled himself into the office chair at Gabriel’s overcrowded desk with a fresh cup of coffee. He turned on his laptop, prepared for a long delve into the dark recesses of scholarly web articles — anything at all to get his mind off of the events of the night before — when his phone began to ring from its charging place in the bedroom.

He jogged to answer it, and caught it just before the call rang off.

“Hello?”

There was a moment of silence before the person on the other end of the line cleared their throat.

“Hey, Cas? It’s, er, it’s Dean?”

Castiel’s eyes widened at the now unmistakable voice, and he bit his lip, free hand fumbling with the hem of his shirt.

“Oh, hello. Is my car fixed?” He scowled at his terrible conversation skills. He had been antsy all day in anticipation of hearing from Dean, and when the man called, Castiel responded like an untuned robot.

“Ah, not quite,” Dean laughed. “How attached are you to the pimpmobile?”

“ _Very_. Oh dear,” Castiel grimaced. “That bad?”

“Aw, I’m sure it’s nothing a Harvard employee can’t foot the bill for, you must be loaded,” Dean joked, and Castiel gave a sad smile at the warm, low chuckle.

“No, not quite.” He was running low on funds as it was — living with Gabriel was beneficial for both of them, after all. His bank balance would never recover if he had to pay out for anything major.

“Don’t worry yourself, Columbo, I’m just messing with you. It’s a pretty simple fix, but we’ve got to wait for the specialist parts to be ordered in so it could be a good few weeks until she’s up and running again.”

“That sounds expensive,” Castiel winced. Gods, what was he going to do without a car? Gabriel’s Camaro was parked outside, but there was no chance in hell his older brother would let him drive it; Castiel hadn’t checked, but he was sure Gabriel had taken the keys with him just in case.

“Naw, couple hundred dollars at the absolute most. I’ll make sure you get the best price.”

Castiel’s shoulders sagged in relief. “That’s very kind of you,” he smiled, somewhat uplifted.

“Don’t mention it,” Dean said. “We’ll give you a call as soon as the parts are in.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

“No problem,” the man replied, the silence filling the air as his words faded away. “See you around, Cas.”

Castiel pursed his lips. “Goodbye.”

Purely professional.

With a sigh, he hung up the phone and headed back to the office. There was only so much he could get done without access to the library’s online sources, but he would make do until he had his car back. Worst case scenario he could just walk, Castiel decided as he settled back at the at the desk.

 

* * *

 

A week later, with still no word on Castiel’s car, he was beginning to go slightly stir crazy. He had been analyzing the same three journal editions for days, and though the in-depth research wasn’t redundant per se, Castiel was getting close to having the entire articles memorized, and it was driving him to distraction. By the time lunchtime came on the seventh day, he was ready to throw the _Harvard Theological Review_ out of the window.

Deciding that just walking the distance to the library would be more conducive to alleviating his cabin fever, he donned his coat and grabbed a large empty canvas bag to fill with new loaned textbooks.

The walk was pleasant enough and only took him around an hour — by the time he reached the library, Castiel felt as though an oppressive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The warm, welcoming foyer had quickly become familiar to him during his stay in Lawrence, and he felt more comfortable in the brightly lit building than he ever managed to get in Gabriel’s gaudily decorated office.

Everything was clean, tidy and orderly, the staff were pleasant and eager to help, and the easy atmosphere helped him to work his way through his monstrous pile of research faster than he could have expected.

He let out a relieved breath as he settled into his favorite booth with a newly acquired collection of critical theory. Castiel laughed to himself as he half seriously considered bringing a few changes of clothes and meals the next time he visited — the library was open 24/7, after all. Maybe the staff wouldn’t notice if he just moved in, he felt like he lived there enough as it was.

Castiel made sure not to get dragged into his work and stay too late this time, because he really would rather not walk home in the dark. The alarm he had set on his cell went off at 6 p.m. and he promptly packed away the temporary additions to his personal library and headed for the front.

“Have a nice evening, Castiel,” a bubbly receptionist called to him as he walked past, and he gave her a smile and returned the sentiment as he headed outside.

Castiel was glad he had decided to walk, the day away from Gabriel’s apartment really had helped to clear his head.

It wasn’t until he was ten minutes down the road that he came to regret his excursion — the heavens opened, and rain began to pelt him with a vengeance. He frowned up at the rapidly darkening skies and attempted to huddle his canvas bag under his trench coat to spare his books from the water. He shuffled faster towards the apartment, cursing the oversight of leaving without an umbrella. The sky had been so bright and cheerful when he had left that the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, but he considered it a rookie error in a state with weather as changeable as Kansas. A quarter of a mile later, he was absolutely drenched.

He prayed that sacrificing himself had at least kept the contents of his bag even slightly dry. Water-laden hair dripped into his eyes, but he had no free hands to push it away, so he merely ducked his head and tried direct the flow of rain away from his face.

Thunder grumbled in the thick grey clouds overhead, and Castiel returned the sentiment. He hated being caught out in storms, especially with books. Cars sped past him, eager to arrive at their destination and get inside, and Castiel was endlessly envious of them. He cursed Gabriel and his terrible knowledge of engine faults.

With the rumble of the skies, Castiel almost missed the growl of a car slowing behind him.

“Cas? Is that you?”

The voice cut through his inner sting of complaint and he raised his rain-sodden head in surprise, missing a step as he came to a halt. A recognizable black car had rolled to a stop in the road alongside him, and a lump formed in his throat as it clicked just who was driving it.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing, man? Trying to drown yourself?” the man asked, grimacing as rain made it into his open car window. “Get in, quick.”

Castiel gave a pathetic, but grateful smile as he darted round to the passenger side of Dean’s car and climbed inside.

“You look like a drowned rat,” Dean declared, eyebrows raised as he watched Castiel inspect the status of his books the instant he was safely inside.

“Thank you,” he sardonically replied, pleased that the books remained dry. “It wasn’t actually raining when I left.”

Dean snorted, pulling out from the side of the road, the car’s windshield wipers beating out a rapid tune on the glass.

He didn’t register how violently he was shivering until Dean whacked the Impala’s heat up to full, and the car’s vents began to churn out beautifully warm air. Instinctively his hands reached out towards the current of heat, desperate to make the most of it.

“You’re lucky I caught you, Cas,” Dean shook his head, glancing over at Castiel with a tight frown. “You look half way to hypothermia as it is.”

Castiel shrugged, trying not to drip too much on the upholstery. “Guess I didn’t realize how cold it was.”

“Yeah, well you’re turning blue,” Dean grunted, throwing his indicators and turning off of the main road. “Mine’s closer, we need to get you out of those wet clothes.”

Castiel couldn’t help his eyes from widened at the implication, his cheeks managing to heat despite the cold permeating through his limbs. “Oh, I—”

Dean threw him a confused sideways glance. “No, god no, not like that, I didn’t mean—” he flustered, clearing his throat. “I meant I’ll find you something dry to wear. You’ll get sick if you stay like that.”

“Oh. That’s kind of you,” Castiel replied, ducking his head in embarrassment at the misunderstanding. Of course that was what he had meant. He was being generous, Castiel wasn’t sure why that was so hard for him to comprehend.

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean lived only a short distance away from Gabriel’s apartment, and quickly they were pulling up outside of a quaint house, definitely nothing Castiel would have imagined Dean to live in before.

“We’re going to have to make a run for it,” Dean said, frowning at the rain that pelted the windows as he shut off the engine.

“I’m sure a little more won’t do me any additional harm,” Castiel shrugged, climbing out after Dean and making a dash for the front porch. “This is your house?” he asked somewhat redundantly, hugging his bag to his chest as he waited for Dean to unlock the front door.

“Yeah, it’s ah, not much. But it’s home, ya know.”

Castiel followed closely behind as Dean beckoned him into the hallway and quickly closed the door behind them, overly cautious of his muddy shoes as he hovered on the welcome mat.

“No, not at all,” he disagreed, glancing around the warm, homely entrance, “it’s very nice. Thank you for inviting me in.”

“No problem, man,” Dean said, toeing off his boots and heading for the stairs. “Let me go grab a towel and a change of clothes for you, I’ll turn up the thermostat.”

“You’re too kind, really,” Castiel murmured, and Dean turned to throw a smile over his shoulder as he made his way upstairs.

“What are friends for, right? Make yourself at home, Cas.”

Castiel nodded, but remained awkwardly in his spot on the mat, desperate not to trek dirty water onto the polished teak floorboards. The damp felt like it was creeping right into his bones, so cautiously he removed his flooded shoes and dripping coat, holding them gingerly so as not to make a mess.

He let his eyes drift around the hall as he waited for Dean to return, a lump forming in his throat at the array of family photos adorning the walls. So far Castiel had spent his adult life moving from apartment to rented apartment, but he had no particularly fond family photographs to decorate them with even if he had wanted to.

When he heard the pounding of feet jogging down the carpeted staircase he instinctively straightened, feeling he was invading on Dean’s privacy by looking at such intimate family memories.

“I didn’t mean you had to make yourself at home on the doormat,” Dean laughed, handing Castiel a pile of soft clothing and a plush towel, and grabbing the wet coat from his hands. “These might be a little big on you, but at least they’re dry. There’s a bathroom in the second door on your left.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said, following the man’s instructions and shutting the door behind him.

Hastily he stripped his sodden jacket and sticky dress shirt, desperate to get out of the horrible clothes; not even his cotton undershirt was salvageable. He dried himself off the best he could with the fluffy towel, and quickly ran it through his already disheveled hair, sighing when it came away looking even worse than before, but at least it no longer dripped down the back of his neck. The threadbare AC/DC shirt he pulled over his messy hair was soft and smelt heavenly, a pleasant combination of detergent and something he vaguely remembered as being unique to Dean. The cozy zip hoodie was just as lovely, and Castiel found himself dipping his nose to inhale deeply at the fleece.

Realizing belatedly how long he had been standing there luxuriating in the scent of the clothing, he hastened to strip his slacks and sodden socks, eternally thankful that his underwear had remained acceptably dry. He would rather throw himself out of the small bathroom window than be forced to ask Dean for underwear to borrow.

The sweatpants Dean had given him to wear were comfortable and well-worn, and he had to roll them over at the waist several times and pull the drawstring tight, but they still fell low on his slender hips. Even so they were the coziest pants he’d ever worn.

With a final glance at his helpless scruffiness in the mirror, he piled up his wet clothes and opened the door, heading back out to find Dean.

A strange expression crossed the man’s face for a moment when Castiel padded into the kitchen, but it was gone as swiftly as it had appeared.

“I ah, I put some coffee on for you. Bet you could do with a cup or fifty.”

“You’re very considerate,” Castiel responded, vaguely noticing Dean had put his shoes on the radiator to dry.

“Naw, nothing you haven’t offered to me,” he said easily, turning to pour the coffee into large mugs.

The heat rose in Castiel’s cheeks, and he strove to clear his throat as he stood in the doorway, clutching his wet clothing.

“Give those to me and come sit,” Dean ordered him as he placed the mugs on the table. “Anything that’s not dry clean only I’ll stick in the dryer.”

Castiel gave him the whole pile, eyes narrowing at Dean’s raised brows.

“You wash all these yourself?”

“Yes?” he replied, bewildered. “Nothing’s ever shrunk before,” he shrugged.

“If you say so, Martha Stewart.”

Castiel sat across from the chair Dean had pulled out for himself and watched as the man shuffled around the kitchen.

“I haven’t been grocery shopping in too damn long, so all I have to offer you is second-day pie,” Dean said, hand rubbing the back of his neck as he peered into the refrigerator “Damn good pie though, if I say so myself.”

Castiel smiled. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be a knowledgeable judge, I’ve never tried it.”

Dean swung to face him, gaping. “What, _pie?_ ”

“Is that a problem?” Castiel asked, tilting his head in confusion.

“You bet your ass it is!” Dean yelled, grasping his chest. “I’ve never heard anything so outrageous in my whole damn life. Wait there, I need to fix this gaping hole in your dessert experience pronto.”

Castiel couldn’t help but laugh as Dean hastily plated some of the remaining pie and brought it over to Castiel with an exaggerated scowl.

“I guess Mary Winchester’s famous cherry pie is as good a place as any to start,” he said, handing Castiel a fork and gesturing for him to dig in.

“Oh,” Castiel moaned as he savored his first bite, the sweet tartness of syrupy cherry exploding across his tastebuds. “This is delicious, Dean. She is a fabulous cook.”

“No, ah, I made it. It was my mom’s recipe. She passed away when I was a kid.”

“Oh,” Castiel frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“Naw, it’s okay. She’d be glad you like it,” he grinned, inhaling his own piece.

“That would be a definite understatement,” Castiel smiled back. “It’s one of the most wonderful things I’ve ever eaten.”

Dean’s eyes flicked down to Castiel’s lips momentarily as he licked his fork clean, before hastily meeting his eyes once more.  
“Yeah?” he asked, suddenly tentative, licking his own lip. “There’s a piece left, I’ll wrap it for you to take with ya.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Castiel said, gazing down at his near-empty plate with longing.

Dean laughed when he caught sight of Castiel’s face. “Go ahead, two slices of pie nowhere near counteracts a lifetime of absence. You deserve it.”

Castiel couldn’t be sure if it was the central heating, but as he watched the man grin, he couldn’t help but feel warmed to his core. “Thank you, Dean. I love it.”

“Well, guess I’ll have to bake some more,” Dean said noncommittally, putting their plates in the sink and sitting back down across from him.

“I’d like that very much.”

They conversed comfortably as Castiel nursed his coffee, and when he reached the bottom of the mug he frowned at the dregs as if they had personally offended him.

“I should probably be going before it gets dark, the rain’s not too heavy anymore,” he said, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt. Part of him wanted to curl up in the warmth with Dean all night, eating pie and listening to the rain beating down on the windows.

“Oh, right. Sure,” Dean said. “I can drive you home, man, it’s not far.”

“You’ve done more than enough for me already, I can’t possibly put you out any further,” Castiel declared firmly. If he spent any longer around Dean, he was in danger of never wanting to leave. In danger of falling victim to his stupid indulgences, of wrapping his arms tightly around Dean’s firm waist and nuzzling his lips into the tender skin at the base of his neck, of brushing his nose along the sharp edge of Dean’s jaw just to luxuriate in the rough scrape of his skin against Dean’s five o’clock shadow.

No. He definitely needed to leave. He couldn’t possibly allow their sparse interactions to mean something more to him than they did to Dean, it was absolutely unfathomable.

“Okay,” Dean resigned with a shrug. “I’ll grab a bag for your clothes, they should be dry by now.”

“Thank you,” Castiel smiled.

“Dude, stop thanking me. Like I said, that’s what friends are for.”

“Friends, right,” Castiel agreed, his smile dropping slightly. He followed Dean to the door, and slipped on his mostly-dry shoes, hoisting his canvas bag onto his shoulder and clutching at the plastic bag Dean handed him. He turned to the man, clearing his throat as Dean opened the door for him.

“You’d better not be going to thank me again, Cas.”

“As if I would,” Castiel replied, his smile starting to reappear.

Dean shook his head, snorting out a laugh. “You’re just going to get soaked again out there like that, man. Look, take one of my umbrellas,” he ordered, grabbing a large black umbrella from the closet behind him.

“Are you sure?” Castiel asked, brows knitted together. “You’ve already offered me so much.”

“Yes I’m sure, go on. Leave before the storm picks up again and you have no apartment to go back to, Dorothy.”

“Hilarious,” Castiel smirked lightly as he stepped onto the porch. “I know you say not to, but I really can’t thank you enough, Dean. You’ve been very kind.”

“Happy to help, Cas, really,” he said, his grin slipping into something smaller, more sincere for a second before the previous bravado returned. “Now get going. Take a left at the end of the street and then your first right, and you’ll be back on the main road. Remember that there’s no place like home, and all that jazz.”

“I will do,” Castiel laughed to himself, waving and heading out into the street.

Lord, he was in so over his head.

The walk was surprisingly short and not unpleasant, now he had the large umbrella to shield him from the rain. It wasn’t until he was safely inside Gabriel’s apartment and slipping off his dress shoes that he considered how ridiculous they must have looked with Dean’s sweats; the only casual shoes Castiel possessed were his running shoes. With that thought, he realized with a frown that he was still wearing Dean’s clothes in the first place. The concept of changing back into his own once they had dried hadn’t occurred to him at all — surely Dean had noticed, why had he not said anything?

Without knowing his phone number, Castiel had no way of contacting Dean regarding their return, or that of his umbrella. With a sigh, he curled up on Gabriel’s couch and grabbed a takeout menu from the pile Gabriel kept in his side table, snuggling deeper into the warm fabric of Dean’s slightly too-large clothes. He would return them when he went to pick up his car, he told himself. Until then, there was no harm in enjoying their softness for a while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for everyone's support, I'm so glad you're enjoying yourselves so far :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this was another slow update! I'm terrible, really. To make up for it, have some sappy hurt/comfort!
> 
> Thanks so much to causidicus and sunshinewinchesters for the help <3

“Hello?” Castiel grumbled into his phone, expecting to hear the overly-cheery tone of Gabriel’s voice back. His brother had an annoying tendency of losing his phone, and Castiel had been called from over ten different unfamiliar numbers since his brother had left because of it. 

He really didn’t have the patience to listen to more of Gabriel’s lewd stories, nor answer painfully detailed questions regarding the activities of his neon tetra. Castiel was frustrated enough without the added irritant — he’d made the trek to the library not twelve hours before, and he was already in need of a return trip. At this point, he was getting better exercise from his frequent excursions than he was out of his morning runs.

With a sigh, he wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear, and shut down his laptop.

“Oh, hey, it’s Dean… Is this a bad time?” 

“Dean!” Castiel exclaimed, scrabbling to hold his phone properly. It had been a few days since the man had invited Castiel into his home, and he had been unable to keep him far from mind ever since. “Not at all, I thought— are you calling about your clothes? I didn’t even think to change out of them, I apologize. I was going to return them to the garage when I collected my car.”

Dean chuckled lowly down the line. “Naw, nothing like that. You were welcome to borrow them, give ‘em back whenever. No rush.” 

“Okay,” Castiel said, catching himself nodding redundantly. “Then may I ask why…?” 

“Shit, yeah, sorry,” Dean laughed, and Castiel was startled by the nervousness laced in the sound. “I ah, I wondered if you needed a ride anywhere. Singer Auto doesn’t really do rentals — Bobby’s got a few junkers he lends out in emergencies but… I’m chasing those parts, I swear, but our supplier’s having trouble locating the— Well, I just thought you might be going a bit stir crazy. Or doin’ some more dancing in the rain seeing as the weather’s not let up much.” 

“Oh,” Castiel replied, surprised. Was this…?

“It’s fine if you don’t— forget it, man, I just—” Dean stumbled over his words, and Castiel hastily cut in.

“No, I’m very grateful for the offer. I was going to walk to the library in a while, if it’s valid for today?” he asked hopefully.

“Yeah!” Dean declared, before clearing his throat. “Yeah, sure. I’ve got the day off, so I’m free to take you to the ball, Cinderella.”

Castiel squinted at the obscure reference. He was quickly realizing that giving out strange nicknames was one of Dean’s more obvious quirks. “Are you insinuating that you’re my fairy godmother, or the pumpkin?” 

“I’m Prince Charming, obviously!” Dean scoffed. Castiel couldn’t help but laugh. 

“When would you like me to be ready for?” he asked with a smile, resting his cell phone back on his shoulder as he resumed his original task of packing up his things. 

“Half an hour?” Dean asked, and Castiel once again pointlessly nodded his assent.

“Of course. Thank you so much, you’ve saved me the walk.”

“No problem, Cas. See you soon.” 

Castiel put the phone down and scrambled to get ready, gulping down the rest of his lukewarm coffee before heading to his room to quickly change and gather his things. He tried to keep himself as busy as possible while he waited, because if he thought about it too much, he was sure to question all of Dean’s motives and drive himself into a ridiculous panic.

Exactly half an hour later, the apartment’s buzzer rang, and Castiel answered the intercom nervously. “Hello?”

“Your pumpkin has arrived, Princess.” 

Castiel released his bitten lower lip to smile. “Hello, Dean. I’ll be right down.” 

He grabbed his coat and slung his heavy bag over his shoulder, locking the front door behind him as he made his way down the stairs to the parking lot out front.

Dean waved from the driver’s seat of the Impala when Castiel approached and let out a low whistle when he climbed into the car, brows raised at his satchel of books. “Jesus, dude, why do you even need to leave the apartment? You got a whole library in your bag.”

Castiel ducked his head. “A postdoc does require one to sift through quite a lot of reading material.”

“I’ll say,” Dean snorted, restarting the car. “You must have half a rainforest in there.”

Castiel leveled him with a weak glare. “I’m sure the textbooks are either recycled or formed from renewable softwood forest sources. It would be barbaric to destroy a priceless rainforest for the sake of a theological journal.”

“I’m kidding, man. I would never doubt your environmental responsibility,” Dean sniggered, pulling the car out onto the road. “So, I’m taking you to the U?” 

“Yes, please,” Castiel nodded. “You’ve been so generous, I understand that the delay with my car isn’t your fault.” 

Dean sniffed and cleared his throat, eyes locked on the road. “It’s nothing, Baby could do with the run anyway. I can run some errands while you’re bookworming.” 

“I won’t be long, I just need to return some texts and order in some new material. Hopefully they’ll have some of my reservations ready to collect, too.”

Dean threw him a sideways smirk. “Sure, _more_ books is what you need.” 

Castiel rolled his eyes but gave an indulgent smile, and settled into the familiar leather as Dean recounted the story of a senile old woman who had turned up at the garage a day earlier with a cracked windshield on a minivan full to the brim with garden gnomes.

The sunlight that illuminated Dean’s face when he laughed struck Castiel as one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. His infatuation was so ridiculous. 

They reached their destination quickly, and Dean dropped him with a promise to return when Castiel texted to say he was ready. The thought of being able to contact Dean now made Castiel feel slightly giddy, but he shook the childish glee away with a sigh as he made his way into the library. 

Dean was doing a favor for a friend, he reminded himself firmly. It would be incredibly unwise of Castiel to interpret the situation any differently, no matter how much he wanted to humor his wishful thinking.

He made quick work of exchanging the texts he had brought with him, and as he logged off of the library’s computer he sent Dean a quick text to let him know he was finished. His cell beeped almost instantly, and Castiel smiled at the message response.

**I’ll be there in ten. Do I need Bobby’s truck for your books? I don’t care how cute they are, you can’t adopt them all**

_Ha ha. Only six - the others haven’t come in yet,_ he sent back, and settled into a booth on the ground floor to wait. He must have become engrossed in the journal he was flipping through to waste time, because a tap to his shoulder brought him back to reality sometime later. He turned with a jump, but relaxed when he saw Dean’s grin.

“So this is where you lurk, huh?” he asked, peering around curiously.

“It is,” Castiel replied. “How did you find me?” 

“That would be me,” Becky, one of the receptionists he had become friendly with piped up from behind Dean. “He was asking after you at the front desk, so I thought I’d be a doll and escort him to you myself. Gosh, Castiel, you didn’t tell me your boyfriend was six foot of pure hunk! I’m breaking out in a sweat just looking at him, trust the handsome brooding boy to bag a damn male model.”

“Hey, I’m at least six-one,” Dean mock-pouted, paying no mind to Castiel’s wide eyes and flaming cheeks. 

“Becky!” he gaped, mortified at the woman’s assumptions. What had she been saying? “This is my friend, not my—”

“Sure, whatever,” the receptionist grinned conspiratorially as she turned away. “See you later, Castiel!”

“I’m so sorry about her,” Castiel grumbled, hiding his face as he collected his things and they headed out into the mild sunshine. “She means well but often comes across as somewhat overbearing and incredibly presumptuous.” 

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean laughed, unlocking the Impala. “She managed to talk my ear off in about thirty seconds.”

Castiel hummed in agreement, staring out of the passenger window as Dean pulled out on the main road. He hoped Dean didn’t think something awful, like that Castiel had been telling people they were together. 

They sat through a few minutes of silence until Castiel’s painfully loud stomach broke it. He coughed to try to cover the noise but it was fruitless — Dean was staring at him out of the corner of his eye, eyebrows raised. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I lose track of time when I’m working. I missed breakfast.” 

“Cas, it’s nearly four p.m, dude,” Dean countered, frowning. 

“Well, breakfast and lunch,” Castiel amended with an abashed look. 

Dean snorted, shaking his head. “And I thought I was bad at looking after myself. Do you like burgers?” 

“Very much so,” Castiel replied. His stomach enthusiastically agreed, rumbling loudly under the layers of his clothing. 

“A man after my own heart,” Dean chuckled at the embarrassing sound, turning off of the main road. “Well then, the Roundhouse gang have a debt I’m calling in.”

Castiel knew that the words were flippant, their meaning dampened into a friendly joke, but his pulse still jumped in his throat. 

“You still haven’t claimed that burger?” he asked, ignoring his body’s absurd reactions to the empty words. 

“I’m surprised you remember,” Dean said with a sly smile.

Castiel cleared his throat, quickly attempting to divert the course of conversation from how perfectly detailed his memories were of their sparse interactions. “I’ve only been there once or twice with my brother, but I didn’t eat.”

“Oh man, are you in for a treat,” Dean said, pulling up outside Harvelle’s and climbing out of the car, heading to the passenger side to wait for Castiel to close his door. “Prepare to have your mind blown,” he grinned, grabbing Castiel’s hand and pulling him towards the bar. 

He tried desperately not to reel at how much the simple touch affected him.

“Hey, Dean,” the familiar blonde bartender called out from a booth across the bar as they made their way through the door, heading in their direction after handing a customer his food. “Castiel, right?” she grinned at him, and Castiel smiled back. He would have been impressed that she had remembered him at all if he wasn’t fixated on the cool air that hit his skin when Dean retracted his hand. 

“Hello.” 

“About time you and Ellen make good on your payment, Jo,” Dean said cheekily, leading Castiel over to a vacant booth and sprawling out in the seat across from him. “Two of your finest beef masterpieces, extra onions on mine. Cas is getting in on the deal too, consider it interest.” 

Jo rolled her eyes and pocketed her notepad. “You got it. What can I get your majesties to drink?” 

“Coke’s fine with me,” Dean said, turning to Castiel questioningly. 

“I’ll have the same, thank you, Jo.” 

“Coming right up, kids,” she confirmed with a chuckle as she retreated to the kitchen. 

They chatted amiably while they waited for their food, the conversation punctuated by the impatient grumbling of Castiel’s stomach, and before long they were once again only inches apart, Dean resting casually on bent elbows across the shiny table. 

“What do you mean, you’ve never seen _Star Trek?_ Are you kidding me right now?”

“No…” Castiel said. “I’m aware of its existence, but I’ve never had cause to watch it myself.”

“I don’t know what kind of childhood you had, man, but no Nimoy and no pie? That sounds like neglect to me.” 

“My parents didn’t own a television. They insisted we weren’t to be brainwashed by it.” 

Dean gasped. “Seriously. You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking. I’m going to have to jack a DeLorean and call CPS on them.” 

“A DeLorean?” Castiel frowned, folding his hands on the table between them. “I don’t see how that would help in any way.” 

“You’re killing me, dude,” Dean groaned with a pained expression, and they were leaning close enough that Castiel could feel the warm breath on his cheeks. He tilted his head in confusion.

“Metaphorically I’d hope, but I still don't understand.” 

Jo’s arrival at their booth interrupted Dean’s dismayed rant, and she hovered beside their table with plates balanced on one arm and a tray of glasses on the other. “Back it up and leave room for Jesus, lovebirds,” she smirks. “Food’s here!”

Castiel tried to hide his blazing cheeks as he retreated back to his side of the table, shifting to sit on his hands.

“Jo,” Dean huffed as he unloaded the drinks from her tray, “Cas is even more culturally oblivious than you are. He completely screened a _Back to the Future_ reference.”

“God, no,” Jo gasped dramatically, throwing Castiel a wink as she placed a delicious-smelling burger in front of him. “Sounds like it’s time for a movie night.”

“Or twenty,” Dean grumbled, but his lips pulled up at the corners as Jo left their table with an amused snort. 

Castiel stayed silent, watching Dean across the table. “Dig in, Cas,” he said, picking up his huge burger with both hands. “You’ve seen _Star Wars_ , right?” the man asked, taking a large bite as Castiel freed his hands and grabbed his own.

“No, Dean.” Castiel sighed fondly, mouth watering. “We’ve established that I don’t watch much television.” 

“But you have to have seen _some_ Harrison Ford. _Blade Runner? Indiana Jones!_ That must be your kinda thing, there’s religious stuff and everything.” 

“Depicted inaccurately by Hollywood, probably. I wouldn’t know.” Castiel snickered as he eyed up his burger, deeply inhaling the heavenly scent radiating from it. Unable to wait any longer he leaned in and took an overly-large bite, only able to savor the taste for a moment before hastily swallowing it down.

“ _Oh_ , this is so good,” he moaned, gracelessly shoveling more of the burger into his mouth. The glazed bun was toasted to perfection and the beef was thick and tender, the spicy juices bursting in his mouth. 

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean grunted, hands frozen with his own burger halfway to his mouth.

“What?” Castiel frowned, glancing down at himself in uncertainty.

“You’re pretty vocal,” Dean huffed, shuffling in his seat. “Want me to leave you two alone?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Castiel coughed, thoroughly embarrassed by himself. “This really is a good burger though. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” 

“Nah I’m just messing with ya’, anyone who can appreciate good food is alright with me.” Dean cleared his throat and took another bite from his neglected burger. “ _Top Gun?_ ” 

It took Castiel a moment to catch up to the swift change of subject, and he squinted at Dean as he swallowed his mouthful of food. “Have I seen it? I don’t believe so.”

“Oh, come on!” he groaned, drowning his fries in tomato sauce. “ _The Good, The Bad and The Ugly_. You _have_ to have seen that.”

Castiel grinned, but remained silent as he ate.

“Damnit, Cas, Clint Eastwood!” 

Castiel couldn’t help but laugh at the tortured scowl on Dean’s face. 

Their food disappeared quickly with Castiel all but inhaling the amazing burger, and he leant back with a sigh, giving his stuffed stomach a little extra room after his final bite. 

“That was wonderful,” he said with a content smile. “I really need to remember to eat more regularly.”

“I’ll say,” Dean tsked, mopping up the last of his sauce with a remaining scrap of the bun, “that hardly even touched the sides.”

“Well it was delicious,” he defended himself, finishing the last of his drink.

“Told you,” Dean grinned across at him, and Castiel sank further into the booth, completely at ease. 

“That you did,” he assented. “Thank you so much for today, you really went above and beyond the call of duty.” 

“No problem, Cas,” Dean shrugged. “I’ve had fun.” 

“As have I,” Castiel said, warm satisfaction spreading in his chest.

“C’mon then, Einstein, we’d better get you back to your journal things before you get separation anxiety,” Dean joked, throwing a few bills down on he nodded towards the door. 

Castiel rolled his eyes at the ridiculous suggestion, following Dean through the bar and out of the door with a wave towards Jo. He found he was somewhat reluctant to leave, he had enjoyed his time in Harvelle’s endlessly more than he ever had with Gabriel dragging him along.

“You seem to be under the impression that I enjoy my work far more than I do,” Castiel pointed out as they climbed back into Dean’s Impala. 

“Oh?”

“Well, yes. At times I’d rather be anywhere in the world _but_ with my ‘journal things’.”

Dean turned to him with a bemused furrow of brows as he started the ignition. “What, you don’t like it? The books and nerdy stuff?” 

“Books more generally are my element, at the risk of sounding like a nerd,” Castiel chuckled. “I could spend hours with a classic novel or a gripping critical text. Thousands of hours of research into the same few over-debated theories though?” he grimaced. “Not so much. This won’t be the most enjoyable summer of my life, I can tell you now.”

“So why do it then? If you don’t mind me asking.” Dean frowned as the car pulled back onto the main road and they headed for Gabriel’s apartment. “Seems like a lot of work for something you don’t really enjoy.”

Castiel paused, watching the rows of trees lining the road pass through his window. “Biblical archaeology is interesting, I suppose — the scholarly field, not the _Indiana Jones_ kind,” he added, and Dean let out a small laugh. “I don’t particularly have an opinion either way. Academia was always my parents’ goal for me, and I just internalized it somewhere along the way.” 

“Wow,” Dean whistled as they turned onto Gabriel’s street. “That’s… that’s shit.”

Castiel hummed, eyes tracing the rows of buildings. “I wouldn’t define it as my calling in life, but it’s okay.”

Dean’s radio filled the car with the low hums of guitar riffs as they pulled up outside of Gabriel’s building, and Castiel folded his hands on his lap.

“So what is?” Dean turned to him and asked as he put the car into park. 

“My calling?” Castiel frowned. “I’m not sure, I’ve never had cause to consider it. I don’t think anyone’s asked before.”

“Well they damn well should have,” Dean snapped, shifting on the bench seat to face Castiel. “You deserve to be happy.” 

Castiel narrowed his eyes in confusion at the intensity of Dean’s reaction. “I’m not _un_ happy, just… apathetic.”

“Yeah well, that ain’t good enough,” Dean grunted.

“Today has made me happy, if that’s any consolation,” he said. “I appreciate you spending your time on me.”

“Yeah.” A smile cracked through the frosty scowl on Dean’s face, and Castiel couldn’t help but return it. “Yeah, me too. Go on, get outta here, brainiac. I’ll see you soon?” 

Castiel’s pulse jumped in his throat. “I’d like that a lot. Goodbye, Dean.” 

He reached for the door with a bright smile on his face and was halfway out of the car when a tug at his arm stopped him. He turned back, brows furrowed, but his sharp intake of breath was lost against the heat of Dean’s mouth. Deceptively soft skin brushed against his lips, drawing an unbidden moan from deep in Castiel’s chest when Dean sucked lightly at his lower lip. 

“Was that okay?” the man asked warily, eyes wide when he retreated. 

Castiel couldn’t have found the words to express just how ‘okay’ it was if he’d had hours and all twenty volumes of the Oxford English Dictionary. Instead he darted in to press an affirmative against Dean’s moistened lips, exhilarated when he felt the man’s mouth curve into a grin against his own.

Dean pulled back ever so slightly, a low chuckle rumbling against Castiel’s over-sensitive lips. “See ya, Cas.” 

Castiel blinked dazedly for a moment at Dean’s crooked smirk, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he made his way out of the car. 

It _was_ something more, he thought, amazed. Dean wanted to see him again. He had _kissed_ him. 

In the joyful haze the heavy bag of books he had deposited at his feet was entirely inconsequential, and he didn’t realize that its shoulder strap had become particularly tangled around his right leg until it was too late. His left foot met the pavement without problem, but when he made to swing his right behind him, the shock of his abruptly halted momentum threw him off-balance and sent him head-first onto the concrete with a grunt.

He pushed himself up with stinging hands, blinking at the ground.

“Ow.”

“Cas?! Shit, are you alright?” Dean yelled from inside the car. Castiel dimly heard him throw open his door and jog round to the passenger side. “Okay, I’ve got you,” Dean’s low voice reassured as he wrapped an arm under Castiel’s and helped him back up into the passenger seat. 

Castiel’s vision tunneled a little at the sudden movement. When he wiped at his eyes, he absently noted the wetness there was a rivulet of blood that was making its track down his face and dripping straight onto Dean.

“That… that was unfortunate,” he swallowed deeply, gripping tightly onto Dean’s arm with his free hand. “I’m bleeding on your shirt.” 

“Forget it, focus on me,” he ordered, brushing Castiel’s hair out of the way.

“It’s going to stain Baby’s upholstery,” Castiel bit his lip nervously, grimacing at the taste of blood getting in his mouth.

“Cas,” Dean grumbled, concern in his eyes as he stripped his overshirt to use as a makeshift swab, wiping at the blood and holding it against Castiel’s hurting forehead. “It doesn’t look deep but head wounds are real bitches, need to make sure we stop the bleeding.”

Castiel opened his mouth to protest Dean’s actions, but the man cut him off with a pointed glare. 

“Are you dizzy at all?”

“No, I’m fine.” 

“Oh sure, ‘tis but a scratch,” Dean scoffed. “C’mon, let’s get you inside. Has Gabe got a first aid kit somewhere? Pretty sure I’ve got some superglue in the trunk if not.”

Castiel nodded, but instantly regretted the movement. 

“Hold this,” Dean directed, nodding towards the ruined shirt as he helped Castiel to his feet, wrapping a solid, steadying arm around his waist. 

“Lean on me,” he instructed firmly, grabbing Castiel’s keys from his pocket and leading him into the building and up the stairs to Gabriel’s apartment. Castiel tried desperately to focus on the throbbing in his forehead and knees over the way their bodies felt pressed together — now really wasn’t the time. 

“Can’t believe I kiss so good you forgot how to walk,” Dean quipped as he unlocked the front door and helped Castiel inside, depositing him on an island bar stool. 

Castiel glared weakly. “I _tripped_.”

“Sure you did,” Dean laughed. “Where’s this first aid kit?” 

“Cupboard under the sink,” he directed as Dean hunted around for it. “Though don’t feel as though you need to stay,” Castiel mumbled, closing his eyes and leaning back against the counter. 

“Don’t be stupid, I’m not going anywhere,” Dean said, and Castiel listened as he rifled through the box. 

“Aha,” Dean celebrated. Castiel cracked open an eye as the man pulled up his own stool and perched in front of him, their thighs slotting together. Gently he peeled away the sodden shirt, seemingly satisfied with the staunched blood flow.

Dean threw his shirt on the counter and Castiel grimaced when he was able to see the extent of the damage to the stained material. 

“I’m sorry about your clothing.”

“Cas, you matter more than some dumb shirt,” Dean dismissed, and Castiel was brightened by the sentiment. 

Quickly Dean set to work organizing his finds from the first aid kit, and he liberally doused a square of gauze with clear liquid before leaning in to inspect Castiel’s forehead once more. “Sorry buddy, this is going to sting a little,” he frowned, using his free hand to grab Castiel’s own where it lay limply in his lap. 

Castiel hummed in acknowledgement, fingers tightening around Dean’s when disinfectant flooded the wound. 

“Nearly there,” he reassured, adding the gauze to the pile on the counter. “Gonna need my hand back for a moment though.”

Abashed by how tightly he was gripping Dean’s hand, he pulled back with a muttered apology. He was comforted though by the fondness in Dean’s expression as he unpackaged some form of medical tape and cut it to size with practiced ease. With gentle fingers he used it to secure the split skin, and with a final inspection of his work, he covered the area with an adhesive bandage.

“All done,” he said, cupping Castiel’s jaw in his hand, tilting his head downwards to check the gauze was secure. The warm, calloused fingers kept Castiel grounded against the sharp ache in his skull. “How are you doing?” Dean asked, his voice hushed, the bubbling of the fish tank’s filter the only other sound in the silent kitchen. 

The press of his thumb into the cleft of Castiel’s chin was like hot wax on his skin, and he couldn’t have pulled away if he’d wanted to. Dean’s concerned eyes stayed glued to his own as the pad of his thumb made slow, caressing sweeps over his mouth, soothing the bitten skin of Castiel’s lower lip. 

“Good,” he murmured, fixated. Dean’s soft chuckle warmed his heart.

A disapproving voice hovered on the edge of his consciousness, warning him of the dangerous waters he was treading.

And he knew, god, did he know. Like a car crash in slow motion he watched on, utterly powerless to break away. How could he, when just the single point of contact between them was like a feast to a man who had been so long starved of touch? This is what he desired for weeks, what he’d so desperately mourned the loss of.

There was a look in Dean’s eyes, a certain soft-hearted gleam. Something Castiel couldn’t quite place. It made his pulse race.

“You’re going to have one hell of a battle scar, soldier,” Dean breathed as he leaned in closer, gently bumping Castiel’s nose with his own. “Where else do you hurt?”

“Nowhere serious, but...” he tentatively raised his hands, holding the scraped skin on his palms up to Dean’s inspection. 

Dean winced in sympathy. “Hands are the worst. I was always fixing up Sammy’s shredded palms, kid was about as coordinated as a newborn giraffe.” Castiel watched intently as the man tenderly brushed the gravel from his grazed palms and grabbed antibacterial cream for them, raising Castiel’s hands to his mouth to press butterfly-light kisses to the purpling, broken skin.

“Sammy?” he asked, relishing the doting gesture. 

“My little brother,” Dean explained as he hopped off the stool and went to root around in the refrigerator. “Here, drink this,” he said, grabbing a carton of orange juice and pouring Castiel a glass. “We need to get your blood sugar back up.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel hummed, keenly drinking the juice down and taking the proffered painkillers. 

“It’s the least I can do, Cas. Baby really did a number on you,” he chuckled as he sat back down, carding his fingers through Castiel’s messy hair. 

“I believe it was more the fault of my ill-placed satchel and the unforgiving concrete than your car,” Castiel remarked, leaning into the touch like an affection-starved cat.

“Either way,” he shrugged, leaning back to toss his shirt and the rest of the pile in the trash. “You okay to make it to the bathroom? We really should get you washed up, Carrie.” 

“Castiel,” he corrected, with an exaggerated frown, watching with amusement as Dean’s confusion turned to a tormented glower. 

“What?” the man asked. “No, I meant— Jesus, Cas.” 

“I was making a joke,” Castiel laughed. “I’m well acquainted with Stephen King’s novels.” 

“Novels, right,” Dean rolled his eyes lightheartedly. “What a comedian. C’mon,” he said, holding out his hands.

Castiel took them eagerly, wincing as he got to his feet. Dean raised his eyebrows in question. “You okay?” 

“My knees are tender, but I believe they’re just bruised.” 

“Been through the wringer, haven’t you, poor baby?” Dean said, leading him through the apartment. “Sit,” he directed, lowering the lid on the toilet and guiding Castiel to it. “Let’s wash off the gore then I’ll get a look at your knees.” 

“I’m capable of doing this myself, you know,” Castiel protested weakly.

“Yeah well, that could be the bloodloss talking. You ain’t passing out in the bathtub on my watch.” 

Castiel’s lips curled into a small grin as Dean grabbed a wash cloth and dampened it under a spray of warm water from the sink. Careful of his new bandage, Dean wiped at Castiel’s face, and when he pulled the blood-darkened cloth away, he pressed a kiss to the newly clean skin above Castiel’s eyes.

“There you go, good as new,” he said, gently tousling Castiel’s hair. “Now, let’s go take a look at your knees.” Dean commanded, raising an eyebrow pointedly at Castiel’s hesitation in taking his outstretched hand. 

“I’m not a child,” he remarked, grabbing the offered hand anyway and coming to stand. 

“I’m aware,” Dean smirked. “Doesn’t mean I can’t look after you. Especially since I’m the one that got you all bashed up in the first place, consider it compensation.” 

“You don’t need to compensate me,” Castiel groused.

“Well, I want to,” Dean argued, leading him into the bedroom. “Now sit tight while I find you something to change into. Any preference?”

“No,” Castiel yawned as he perched on the bed. “Anything from the third drawer down.” 

Dean rifled through the drawer for a minute then turned to him with a knowing smile, holding a familiar AC/DC T-shirt in his hands. “I see you’ve claimed this then.”

“Oh, I— I meant to give that back to you, I completely forgot.” Castiel flushed. He _had_ meant to return it, it had just been stored with the rest of his pajamas to keep the room tidy. 

Dean tipped his head back to laugh. “Whatever, Novak, I know your game,” he grinned as he came to sit next to Castiel. He began to unbutton Castiel’s bloody shirt and drew it down his arms, throwing the garment in the direction of his laundry basket. 

“Lean forward, I’ll be careful,” Dean promised as he stretched out the collar of the shirt to avoid catching it on the fresh bandage as he slipped it over Castiel’s head. “Now, pants off,” he ordered. “Lemme get a look at those knees.” 

Castiel flushed as the man dropped to his knees on the carpet between Castiel’s legs and untied his shoes. “Dean—” 

“I _know_ I don’t have to,” Dean cut him off, and at the unfaltering stare, Castiel gave in and undid the fly of his pants, lifting his hips for Dean to drag the material cautiously down his legs. 

“Ouch,” Dean cringed at his exposed knees, wrapping a supportive hand around Castiel’s ankle as he inspected the damage. “Unless there’s some hidden stash I haven’t come across it doesn’t look like Gabe has any arnica, the best we can do is ice them.”

“Later?” Castiel sighed as he leaned back onto his elbows, exhaustion rapidly creeping up on him.

“Later won’t be much help, lazybones,” Dean sniggered, ghosting his fingers over Castiel’s kneecap, “you gotta catch bruises early.” 

“They’ll be okay for now,” Castiel grumbled, flopping down on the bed. “I’m surprisingly tired.”

“Alright, you’re the boss,” Dean acquiesced, pushing himself to stand as Castiel wiggled to get himself more adequately under the comforter. 

“You’re leaving?” he croaked when Dean retreated towards the door, unable to keep the distress from his voice as he gripped painfully tight at the sheets in his fists. “I thought—” 

Dean turned back to him, the corners of his lips turned down slightly as he caught sight of the panic on Castiel’s face. “Only going to turn out the lights, Cas, put the puppy eyes away. I’ll be right back,” he swore, and headed into the hall. 

Castiel scooted himself upright on aching hands, and waited as he listened to the sounds of Dean shuffling around the apartment. 

Dean’s not going to leave, he firmly told himself. He’s coming back. 

God, hitting his head must have shaken him up more than he’d thought. The light in the hall clicked off, plunging everywhere but Castiel’s room into darkness, and when Dean reappeared, having taken off his boots, Castiel let out a stupidly relieved breath.

“Want me to…?” Dean gestured vaguely towards Castiel’s bed as he came closer. “I’m happy to take the couch, or the floor--” 

“No,” Castiel frowned, pulling back the comforter on the side of the bed closest to Dean. The man nodded and began to strip out of his jeans, climbing in beside Castiel in his boxers and undershirt. “Stay. Please?” Castiel asked, instinctively wiggling closer to the warmth of Dean’s body and wrapping himself around it, too exhausted to be self-conscious about his forward behavior.

“Of course,” Dean murmured into Castiel’s hair, fingers threading rhythmically through the short hairs at his nape in the most relaxing way. “I ain’t leaving you.”

“Mmh,” Castiel hummed contentedly into the welcoming heat of Dean’s chest. “G’night, Dean.”

For a moment there was silence, punctuated only by the sound of their synchronized breathing and the beating of Dean’s heart beneath Castiel’s ear. He felt more than heard when Dean released a hushed sigh, the solid arm around his waist tightening as he drifted into unconsciousness.

“Night, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much for reading! See you next chapter :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because a little hurt/comfort is never enough, right? 
> 
> Endless thanks to my loves, causidicus and sunshinewinchesters!

Castiel rolled to sit up when he awoke the next morning, and instantly regretted it. His hands and knees throbbed, and he had to squeeze his eyes tightly shut against the splitting pain in his skull. He gingerly brought his fingers up to prod at the bandage on his forehead, wincing at the sensitivity. God, that was going to sting for a while. 

Before Castiel even had time to realize he was alone in the bed he was startled by a loud crash in the apartment, and mindful of his bruised _everything_ , he carefully clambered out of bed to investigate. 

“Dean?” he called out warily as he shuffled towards the kitchen. “What are you doing?” 

The man was fully dressed with his back to Castiel, up to his elbows in flour and tending to something on the stove as he swayed his hips in time to his own humming.

"Aw dammit,” Dean huffed, catching sight of Castiel over his shoulder. “I was gonna bring you breakfast. Sorry for waking you up, guess I’m not as stealthy as I thought," Dean frowned, crossing the room towards him and wrapping his flour-white arms around Castiel’s shoulders. 

"It's okay," he said, slowly slipping his arms around Dean’s waist in return and reveling in the contact. “You managed to find ingredients?" Castiel asked, brows furrowed. 

"Not unless you wanted condiments for breakfast,” Dean chuckled, and Castiel ducked his head sheepishly. “I made a store run before you woke up."

"Oh. You didn't need to do that." He let his body relax into the hug when Dean didn’t pull away, his head coming to rest on Dean’s shoulder. It was probably only psychological, but the easy embrace was helping to take his mind off the throbbing in his head, if not easing the pain itself.

Dean tsked dramatically, and Castiel’s lips curled into a smirk in response. "Yeah, yeah. I wanted to. How's your head feeling?"

"Sore,” Castiel sighed. “Not unbearable though.”

Dean hummed, dusty thumb rubbing at the back of Castiel’s neck. “I’ll take a look when I’ve washed up. The bandage should be okay to come off now.”

“Okay,” Castiel replied, reluctant to untangle himself.

Dean pulled back enough to make eye contact, and Castiel felt a thrill of affection shoot through him at the sight of what looked like dough smeared through the man’s hair. "Go curl up on the couch,” Dean told him. “I'll bring some more painkillers when I’ve finished up in here."

"Sure?" Castiel leaned around Dean to catch a glance at what was in the oven. "I can help."

"Nope, you're on bed rest today. Or couch rest," the man grinned, unwinding his arms from Castiel’s shoulders and nudging him towards the door. 

"That’s a little unnecessary," Castiel protested weakly, disentangling his arms from Dean’s torso. "I’m not exactly at death’s door. Can I at least get some coffee first?"

Dean laughed, the deep, rumbling sound having quickly become one of Castiel’s favorites, and leaned in to smack a kiss against his hair. "Gimme five, I'll bring some in."

"Okay then. Come get me if you need anything," Castiel acquiesced with a yawn, rubbing his eyes as he shuffled into the den and over to the couch. 

He perched on the corner of the cushions as he waited, able to get a good look at his knees in the daylight. He grimaced at the ugly array of colors, but was mildly consoled by the fact that his pants had protected them somewhat from the grazing his palms had been subjected to. The broken skin there was irritatingly itchy, and he had to ball his hands into loose fists to stop himself from scratching and making them worse. 

"Here," Dean said, as he came through the door and headed around to the front of the couch, handing Castiel a mug of steaming coffee and the pack of Tylenol. 

"Mmh, perfect," Castiel inhaled deeply, warming his hands on the ceramic. "Thank you."

"No problem," Dean smiled, retreating back into the kitchen, this time returning with a tray laden with a full bowl, a fresh antiseptic wipe and a bottle of arnica gel. “I made soup,” he announced proudly, handing Castiel the tray and grabbing the other items from it once he had it steady.

“For breakfast?” Castiel raised a brow, putting his coffee mug down on the side table and tilting his head back so Dean was able to carefully peel off his bandage. 

“Yep,” Dean grinned. “My mom’s tomato rice soup is a fix-all remedy, promise.” 

“I believe you,” Castiel assured him as Dean gently wiped his stinging forehead. “You’re not having any?”

“Naw, the leftovers’ll last you a few days,” he said, discarding the swab and grabbing the arnica from the table. "I ran by my place for a change of clothes on the way to the store, brought this back with me. C'mon," he gestured to Castiel’s legs, “you eat, I’ll play doctor.” 

Castiel chuckled, carefully swiveling in his seat so as not to spill his soup and lifted his legs, wincing at the pull of skin. Dean wrapped a hand around Castiel's ankle and gently guided his legs over his thighs, helping him shuffle until his lower legs were across Dean’s lap. 

"You should have let me ice these last night," Dean griped as he examined Castiel’s knees. “Bet you’re regretting that now.”

“Somewhat,” Castiel agreed, spooning mouthfuls of hearty soup and eagerly swallowing them down. 

Dean rolled his eyes as he filled his palm with the gel, leaving it a moment to warm up a little before scooping some with his fingers and tenderly working it into Castiel's knees. He rubbed soothing circles onto the battered skin, and Castiel relaxed into the gentle motions as Dean stroked across the bruises with his thumbs. 

"There ya go," he said, resting his palm on Castiel’s shin. “Won’t do too much good now, but at least it should stop it getting worse.” 

"Okay." Castiel sighed contentedly into his last mouthful of soup, enjoying the way Dean’s fingers idly massaged his calves. 

“How was the soup?” Dean asked, returning to his coffee as he spread out on the couch, Castiel’s legs still stretched across him as he cautiously sipping the steaming liquid.

“Perfect, thank you.” Castiel wiggled to his side to put the tray on the floor, then relaxed back into the cushions. “You’re a very impressive cook.”

Dean laughed into his coffee. “I’m no TV chef — just got a bit more than ramen noodles in my repertoire, is all. I practically raised my brother, so it was either I made us decent dinner or we survived off Spaghettios and Lucky Charms.”

Castiel gave him a sad smile, but remained silent, not wanting to pry. He quietly watched the wistful look that spread across Dean’s face as he lost himself in thought. “You sell yourself short,” he protested, attempting to carefully change the subject. “I couldn’t make soup like that.”

Dean’s eyes came back to Castiel’s, and he beamed. “Sure you could, it’s easy. Maybe I’ll show you one day.” 

Castiel’s chest ached at the words. _One day_. He was leaving Lawrence in under three weeks. 

The beeping of the oven timer sounded from the kitchen, snapping Castiel from his reverie, and Dean tapped his ankles with a grin. “That’s my cue, lift up for a sec.” 

“What else did you make?” Castiel asked, shifting his legs over as Dean grabbed his tray from the floor and headed back to the kitchen. 

“You’ll see!” the man called excitedly from the hallway, and Castiel laughed despite the gnawing in his stomach, curling himself up on the sofa as he silently drained the last of his own coffee.

When Dean returned a few minutes later, he had Castiel’s comforter thrown over his shoulder and a large casserole dish in one hand. The sweet, heady scent of cherries and pastry filled the room, and Castiel’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. 

“I wasn’t sure where to start with your movie crashcourse,” Dean grumbled, “so I decided to go back to basics when I grabbed some from my collection. Have you seen _Ghostbusters?_ ”

“I don’t think so,” Castiel answered, reaching up to grab the comforter from Dean’s shoulder. 

“I suspected not,” he sighed dramatically. “That’s where we’re starting then,” he declared, placing the dish on the table and pulling a DVD case from the pocket of his hoodie. 

Castiel watched with amusement as he turned on the TV and set up the movie, grabbing the remote and getting back on the couch. When Dean held out arm for him to scoot over, Castiel’s heart was warmed enough that he could almost ignore the pit in his stomach, reminding him that their time together was running out. If it didn’t bother Dean, he told himself as he shifted into the man’s reach, surely it shouldn’t bother him. 

“I used all the bowls baking, so we’re sharing,” Dean announced, retrieving the dish whilst Castiel arranged himself, leaning up against Dean’s side and wrapping the comforter around them. 

The dish was filled with half a steaming pie and a mountain of vanilla ice cream, and Dean scooped up a large spoonful, holding it up to Castiel’s lips.

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever held a fresh pie in my hands and let someone else take the first bite,” he mused, and Castiel sniggered as he wrapped his lips around the spoon. 

“I’m honored,” he smirked, licking the sugar from his mouth. 

“Damn straight,” Dean laughed, picking up the remote and starting the movie. 

They sat in pleasant silence as they watched, Dean intermittently feeding Castiel spoonfuls of pie and mouthing along with every other line. By the time the dish was empty the movie was nearing its climax, and Castiel was lazily wrapped around Dean under the comforter, eyes drooping as the cozy warmth filled him with contentment. 

“You’d better not be asleep down there,” Dean muttered as the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man tramped through the streets of New York City.

“No, definitely not,” Castiel mumbled playfully, snuggling into Dean’s shoulder. 

“Hey!” Dean flicked his cheek, shifting to scowl down at him. “Don’t you dare fall asleep on Bill Murray.”

“I’m not, I swear,” he chuckled. “I’m just comfortable.”

“Yeah right. If I catch you with your eyes closed I’ll kick you off the couch,” Dean groused, but the arm he had wrapped around Castiel’s shoulders tightened as he spoke, drawing him back into the embrace. 

“Seems like fair punishment,” he agreed with a smile, settling his head back on Dean’s chest and returning his attention to the movie.

When the credits rolled and the marshmallow-coated cast climbed into the Ecto-1, Castiel couldn’t help but laugh. 

“What did ya think?” Dean asked expectantly, shutting off the TV and shuffling round to face him. 

“It was absolutely ridiculous, but I liked it,” Castiel chuckled, wiping at his eyes. 

“Good,” he snickered, but the cheery expression dropped slightly when he glanced down at his watch. “I don’t wanna ditch you but I promised I’d be in work this afternoon to help out, the place’ll fall apart if I’m gone for too long.”

“Oh, sure,” Castiel frowned, unreasonably disappointed. “I appreciate you having stayed with me for as long as you did. You really didn’t need to.” 

“Don’t be dumb,” Dean smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to the bridge of Castiel’s nose. “Do you have plans for Friday?” 

“Friday?” He shook his head. “No, why?”

“Come over?” Dean requested demurely, thumbs dipping under the hem of the AC/DC shirt to skirt across Castiel’s hipbones. “I’ll cook. You must be getting sick of marinara sauce and crackers.” 

“Hey, I’m not completely inept,” Castiel scowled playfully, leaning into the man’s touch. “I just don’t see much point in cooking elaborate meals when I’m the only one to eat them.” 

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” Dean laughed, drawing away, much to Castiel’s dismay. “You can be my sous-chef.”

“Deal.” 

Dean grinned. “I got your books in from the car, and stocked you up with some essentials to keep you going for a few days, so no extreme hiking. Take it easy.” 

“Yes, sir,” Castiel teased, warmed by the gesture. “Thank you.” 

“I don’t think you’re in critical condition anymore, but I’ll call after work to check you’re still kicking.” 

“Considerate of you.” Castiel followed Dean as he climbed off the couch with an indulgent stretch, and gathered his jacket and shoes from their spot by the door. 

“Friday,” he confirmed, dipping in for a kiss. Castiel returned it with fervor, gripping tightly at Dean’s collar. 

Reluctantly he pulled away, relishing the sweet taste on his lips. “Goodbye, Dean.” 

Dean gave him a bright, toothy smile as he fished his car keys from his pocket and headed down the main stairs, waving up to Castiel as he stood in the doorway. When he had disappeared from sight, Castiel closed the door, adamant to actually get something done with his afternoon — anything to keep his mind away from rough hands and bright green eyes.

He spent the rest of the day sorting through his new material from the library, but it was hard for him to achieve much when the warring sensations of giddy excitement in his chest and persistent heaviness in his gut kept him occupied. By half-past eleven, Castiel had given up in favor of lounging in front of the TV with a bowl of cereal for dinner. At that point he glumly decided that Dean must have forgotten to call him, and was just about to load the dishwasher and limp off to bed when his phone chirped out a text alert.

**You awake?**

He quickly replied in the affirmative, and no sooner than he’d sent the message his phone began to ring in his hand. 

“Hello?”

“Hey you,” Dean yawned down the phone, “sorry I’m calling so late. Got held up at the garage.”

Castiel frowned sympathetically. “It’s okay, I was still up. You should really get to bed though.”

“Yeah, I will,” he said, stifling another yawn. “Had to keep my word though. How you doing?”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Castiel scolded lightly, touched nonetheless. “We both know I’m not going to expire anytime soon. Go to sleep.”

Dean chuckled lowly, and the sound eased the frown from Castiel’s face. “Aye aye, captain. See ya Friday.”

“Indeed you will,” Castiel said, depositing his bowl in the dishwasher and switching it on before retreating to his room, turning off the lights as he went. “Goodnight.”

“Bye, Cas,” Dean mumbled sleepily. Castiel smiled despite himself as he hung up, and plugged his phone in to charge before heading for the shower, spirits lifted. 

Friday morning came around quickly, and Castiel was starting to feel more like himself. Not quite ready to get back into his running routine, he decided as he laced up his shoes and left the apartment, but healthy enough to walk to the store for supplies. As he descended the stairs, he sent Dean a text asking if there was anything the man wanted him to bring.

He wasn’t expecting an instant response, not when he knew Dean was working, so the two successive beeps from his phone where it sat in his coat pocket were a pleasant surprise.

**Just yourself is enough — wouldn’t turn down beer though**

**Or wine, whatever you drink**

Castiel swiftly typed out his reply, leaving the building and crossing the street.

_I drink beer. What time?_

**6?**

_I’ll see you then._

He pocketed his phone once more and resumed his journey, the eagerness to see Dean again eclipsing the ever present, ominous sensation in his stomach.

Castiel made it to Dean’s house at ten to six, and rang the bell, fussing with his shirt and awkwardly fiddling with the case of beer in his hands as he waited on the porch. He could hear some frantic shuffling inside for a second and bit his lip nervously whilst Dean opened the door. 

“Sorry,” the man beamed, despite his lack of breath, and held the door open for Castiel to come inside. “I was upstairs.”

“It’s my fault, I”m early,” Castiel said, brandishing the sixpack. “But I brought the beer.” 

“Awesome,” Dean replied, dragging him inside. As soon as the door was closed, Dean grabbed Castiel for a deep kiss, bringing his hands up to cup Castiel’s jaw as his tongue brushed across the seam of his lips. “Mmh. Been wanting to do that all day.”

Castiel found himself leaning forward as Dean pulled away, compelled to elongate the contact between them. Up close, he could make out each individual freckle that graced Dean’s nose, and the long, dark lashes that brushed his cheeks as he blinked.

“Your head looks a lot better.” The man’s voice brought him back to the present, and he tilted Castiel’s chin down to get a better look. “Should be okay to take the tape off now.” 

Castiel hummed, enjoying the warmth of Dean’s hands. “It does feel a lot better.” 

“Good,” Dean smiled, “we’ll sort it after dinner. C’mon, you’re on salad duty.”

“Sounds strenuous and complex,” he teased, following Dean into the kitchen. 

“Damn straight, most important job of all,” Dean smirked. “Steak’s okay, right? From the way that burger went down I guessed you’re a fan of red meat.” 

“Steak is definitely okay,” he confirmed, standing back as Dean prepared the kitchen and gathered ingredients from the refrigerator. 

They worked together easily, Castiel washing and preparing the salad while Dean expertly browned the steaks in a large skillet, tossing in shallots, mushrooms and peppercorns until the room was filled with mouthwatering scents. He pulled a bottle of brandy out of a cupboard and poured a ladle full, turning to Cas with a wink as he fished a box of matches out of a drawer. “Stand back,” he grinned, and Castiel watched with raised brows as he lit the liquor and dropped it into the pan, which was momentarily engulfed in bright flames as the alcohol burned off. 

“Very impressive,” Castiel laughed at the childlike glee on Dean’s face. 

“I like to think so,” he smirked, removing the steaks from the pan and pouring in wine and cream for the sauce. 

The alien, yet perfectly comfortable domestic ease made Castiel’s heart ache, a grin splitting his cheeks when Dean wrapped arms around him from behind as he finished slicing red onion, resting his chin on Castiel’s shoulder to observe his handiwork. 

“I’m all done, you finished with your master salad?”

“Yes,” Castiel nodded, transferring his neatly chopped greens onto two plates and handing them to Dean to dish up the steaks. After briefly tidying up after himself he followed Dean to the table, taking the seat he had claimed the last time he’d been invited into Dean’s house, and waiting for him to get the beers out of the fridge.

“This looks amazing,” Castiel noted, impressed. “Never again will I believe it when you deny being an excellent cook, I just watched you _flambé_.”

Dean laughed with a casual shrug as he sat, handing Castiel a beer. “What can I say, I’ve picked up a few party tricks.”

“The kind one picks up at culinary school, maybe,” he smirked, cutting into his tender steak and taking a large bite. “Thank you for inviting me over, this is incredible.” 

“Good,” Dean said, nudging Castiel’s foot with his own under the table. “Happy to have you.”

They ate mostly in companionable silence, and when they had finished and cleared their plates away, Dean washed his hands and sat Castiel back down to get a proper look at his forehead. 

“Yeah, it’s healing fine, the tape’s good to come off. I’ll be gentle,” he promised as he removed the adhesive that had been holding the cut closed. “There you go,” he smiled, throwing it away and leaning down to pull Castiel into a kiss. Castiel tilted his head to capture Dean’s lips at a better angle, sliding his arms around the man’s hips and pulling him in closer. 

Dean bent lower, resting a knee on the chair beside Castiel’s hip for better access, and Castiel shivered at the increased contact, running his hands idly up the man’s muscular, shirt-clad back. Dean moaned lowly against his mouth, and pulled away marginally, lips wet and red. “Wanna take this upstairs?” he smiled coyly, ducking back in to tug at Castiel’s lower tip with his teeth.

Castiel retreated until he could meet Dean’s gaze with a teasingly unimpressed glower. “You made me steak just to seduce me?” 

Dean snorted, carding his fingers through the hair at Castiel’s temples. “Well, I could have just taken you to a drive-thru.” 

Castiel chuckled, leaning in to nip at Dean’s lips. “Lead the way, then.”

“Hell yeah,” Dean grinned, eyes hooded as he grabbed Castiel’s hand and dragged him to the stairs. 

They made to Dean’s bedroom with only a few interruptions, where Castiel found himself pressed against the wall, Dean’s mouth hot against his neck. By the time they reached the bed, Castiel was struggling to keep his breath, cock hard against the fly of his pants. 

Dean pushed him down, his body pinning Castiel to the mattress, and he instinctively spread his legs to make the most of the luscious friction of Dean’s hips pressing into his erection as his tongue plundered Castiel’s mouth. 

“Want it like this?” Dean hummed into Castiel’s neck, lifting his pelvis only enough to slip his hand in the gap between their bodies and stroke Castiel’s cock through his slacks. “Swear I’m not a one-trick pony.”

“Nng, no,” Castiel managed to get out, shaking his head in spite of the blissful pressure Dean’s hand was providing. “I want you to— can we…?” he began, trailing off. 

“What?” Dean asked, tilting his head. 

Castiel’s cheeks flushed ridiculously. “Sex. I— I mean penetrative.”

“Oh,” Dean froze, blinking dumbly, and they were so close that Castiel could see the rapid dilation of the man’s pupils as he audibly swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” 

Recovering himself, Dean dipped back in to recapture Castiel’s lips as his fingers began to undo his dress shirt, quickly divesting him of it before moving on to his belt and dragging the pants and boxers down his legs and to the floor. 

“Roll over,” he mumbled into the skin of Castiel’s shoulder, his hands stroking over his ribs before he pulled away and began rifling through his nightstand. 

Castiel followed the man’s instructions, wincing when the position put pressure on his sore hands and knees but quickly training himself to ignore the discomfort. 

His previous sexual experiences had gone in much the same way, but this part always made him nervous. No matter how he forced his body to relax, the initial breach still hurt. Castiel bit down hard on the inside of his cheek as the mattress dipped behind him, and Dean’s warm hands wrapped around his waist.

You can handle it, he told himself resolutely, it’s Dean. You know he won’t intentionally hurt you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dean asked, and Castiel turned his head in confusion.

“I—”

“I said roll over, not get on all fours,” Dean griped, maneuvering him flat on his stomach, his hips propped up on a pile of pillows. “Your knees are black and blue, that must have hurt like a bitch,” he chided lightly, stroking the outside of Castiel’s thigh as he pressed swollen lips to the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” Castiel mumbled into the cushion of his forearms as Dean pulled away. 

“Don’t be,” the man said, his body coming to press against Castiel’s back, the heat of his naked skin heavenly against Castiel’s own where he had stripped his t-shirt. He leaned in to nose at Castiel’s jaw until he turned his head, then captured his lips into an awkwardly angled, but perfect, kiss. 

Quickly he abandoned Castiel’s lips in favor of his neck and shoulders, and Castiel tried to relax back into his forearms when Dean’s hands left his body and the sound of his fly being undone filled the room. 

It’s Dean. Relax, he commanded his taut muscles. 

But he couldn’t, and his legs trembled slightly on the bed when Dean’s bare legs came into contact with them. The man’s soothing kisses resumed, soft lips tracing their way down his spine, and at the lack of sudden penetration, Castiel began to unwind a little. By the time Dean’s hands reached Castiel’s ass he had calmed down marginally, losing himself in the light caresses. Calloused hands stroked and kneaded at the rounded muscle and Castiel gasped noiselessly into the pillow of his arms when Dean pressed a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the swell of flesh.

Slowly Dean pulled his mouth away, and Castiel took a deep, steadying breath as the man took two handfuls and spread his cheeks. He waited, perfectly still, for the unyielding hardness against his entrance, and nearly jumped off of the bed at the soft press of lips to the sensitive ring of muscle.

“Oh,” he moaned as Dean’s hot tongue brushed his rim, the tentative swipe increasing in confidence at Castiel’s reaction and developing into broad strokes. Castiel’s eyes widened at the foreign, electric sensation, and his legs spread wider as Dean’s tongue swirled around the muscle in a wet caress. 

He’d never— no one had ever— 

“Oh god,” he whimpered, nails digging into his palms. “ _Dean_.”

Dean crooned in satisfaction; the vibrations pressed directly into the over-sensitized furl of skin made Castiel keen into the mattress. He pulled back far enough to blow a torturously hot breath of air across Castiel’s hole, firmly pinning his bucking hips to the bed with unrelenting hands before delving back in, this time to dip his pointed tongue just inside, teasing Castiel’s fluttering rim.

“Nng,” Castiel groaned, wide-eyed, as Dean repeated the motion, thrusting his hot tongue into the tight clench of muscle. Frantically, Castiel threw an arm back to tangle in Dean’s hair, desperately attempting to hold him closer. “Please,” he begged, pushing his hips backwards in search of more. The movement dragged his pulsing cock against the soft cotton of Dean’s pillows and he cried out, overwhelmed by the dual sensations. 

One of Dean’s hands left his ass cheek and Castiel groaned at the loss until he felt a thick finger brush the slick skin of his entrance before slipping in alongside Dean’s tongue. It made several slow, deep thrusts, stretching out Castiel’s rim, before hunting down and brushing his prostate. 

Castiel wailed as Dean’s fingertip stroked firmly at the bundle of nerves, his tongue darting in and out with sloppy thrusts. His hips bucked, cock jammed between his stomach and the pillows, and he clawed at the sheets with his free hand as he squirmed. 

“Dean,” he barely choked in warning, “you need to stop— I’m going to—”

But Dean ignored him, redoubling his efforts rather than pulling away, and Castiel sobbed as his prostate was rubbed mercilessly over and over, tongue rapidly spearing his aching hole. Every muscle in Castiel’s body tightened and shook as Dean’s assault on his prostate heightened, and with a final, sharp drag of his calloused fingertip over the frazzled nerves, Castiel was pushed over the edge, his muscles seizing as he thrashed. 

His hips stuttered into the pillows beneath him, blood pounding in his ears as he fought for breath. 

“Fuck, oh god,” Dean grunted, voice thick and gravelly as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to Castiel’s ass and back. “Can’t believe you came like that on my tongue. _Fuck_ , Cas.”

Castiel moaned pathetically, trying to push himself up. “No,” he said, pulling Dean’s hand away from where it was frantically jacking his own painfully hard cock. “Don’t. I want you to come inside me.”

“Shit,” Dean growled, pressing his eyes shut and fighting to regain his breath. “I— god, I won’t last long.” 

“I don’t care,” Castiel said, pulling Dean closer. 

“Just… just gimme a minute,” Dean groaned as he crawled next to him, rolling Castiel onto his side and pulling his back tight against his chest. There was a distinctive _snick _of the lubricant bottle opening, and then Dean was nudging Castiel’s top leg forward, slick fingers stroking at his heated entrance. Castiel murmured unintelligibly as Dean brushed his lips along Castiel’s neck, sliding a single finger back inside.__

__“More,” Castiel demanded, hips pressing backwards._ _

__Dean acquiesced, and on the next thrust, eased two fingers inside his hole. The stretch was intoxicating, and Castiel had to bite down sharply on his lower lip to stop himself from babbling. Dean’s fingers worked him thoroughly, coaxing his internal muscles to relax, and just when Castiel had become accustomed to the sensation, a third finger pressed against his swollen, unresisting rim._ _

__He whimpered at the full sensation as Dean spread his fingers, grateful that they stayed pointedly away from his hypersensitive prostate. “Dean, I’m ready,” he huffed out, hitching his top leg higher._ _

__“Sure?” Dean asked, grazing his teeth across the meat of Castiel’s shoulder as his fingers pumped in and out of his slick entrance. “God knows I want you so fucking much it’s killing me, but I ain’t hurtin’ you.”_ _

__“You won’t,” Castiel rasped impatiently, thrusting back onto Dean’s thick fingers. “Now please, fuck me.”_ _

__Dean let out a pained breath, pulling away long enough to roll on a condom and lube himself up before plastering himself to Castiel’s back once more, covering his neck in wet kisses as he lined himself up with Castiel’s entrance. The heat of the throbbing head at Castiel’s abused rim had him mewling once more and he wiggled back into the hardness, urgently pressing their hips together. Dean slipped his arm under Castiel’s neck and wrapped it tightly around his chest, pulling them flush together, and with a restrained shift of his hips, pushed the head past the loosened ring of muscle._ _

__Castiel whined at the heady stretch, hissing out a breath as Dean’s cock filled him._ _

__“Cas, fuck, baby,” Dean breathed sharply into the skin beneath his ear, “I can’t, so fucking tight. Are you— is this—”_ _

__“Yes,” Castiel replied insistently, angling his hips backwards as Dean wrapped his hand around Castiel’s thigh, bringing it up to his chest. “ _Deeper,_ ” he demanded._ _

__That was all the encouragement Dean needed, and with a stuttered breath he drew back, only to slam his hips forward. Castiel groaned at the exhilarating burn of thickness spreading his rim and his internal walls, and rolled his pelvis back to meet each forceful thrust._ _

__“Just like that, Cas,” Dean panted, lips caressing Castiel’s sweat-slick neck. “Move for me, so fucking hot and wet,” he babbled, pausing only to suck bruises onto Castiel’s skin. “Feel so perfect around my cock.”_ _

__Castiel clenched his eyes tightly shut, fingers digging into Dean’s own where they gripped his torso._ _

__“The noises you make, fuck,” Dean croaked, hitching Castiel’s leg even higher as he hammered into him, glancing just off of his prostate with every stroke._ _

__Castiel cried out as Dean shifted his angle, fingers biting into Castiel’s thigh as their hips crashed together. His whole body trembled and his chest heaved, eyes rolling back into his head when Dean sucked particularly violently at the pounding pulse point in his neck._ _

__He was right there, so close, needed just a little more…_ _

__“You gonna come for me again, beautiful? C’mon, I know you can,” Dean growled in Castiel’s ear, tugging at the sensitive lobe with his teeth._ _

__“Dean,” Castiel wheezed over and over, barely able to form the words as he writhed._ _

__“I got you, baby. That’s it,” he purred, hand slipping under Castiel’s raised thigh to wrap around the head of his cock, “let go for me.”_ _

__The hot pressure around his dripping head was all he needed, and Castiel was sent sobbing into his second orgasm, inner walls clamped down hard around Dean as his body contorted in overwhelming rapture. Dean’s grip tightened around him as his hips stuttered, and with a few wild, unrestrained thrusts, Dean followed, teeth clenching sharply at Castiel’s neck._ _

__Castiel floated for a while, basking in the aftershocks as his wrung-out muscles fluttered weakly around Dean’s cock._ _

__“You okay, Cas?” Dean murmured hoarsely after a moment, nuzzling the tender skin of Castiel’s shoulder._ _

__“Mmhm,” Castiel replied hazily, clinging tightly to Dean’s arms. “Very okay. S’never been like that before.”_ _

__“Like what?” Dean asked, covering his throat in lethargic kisses._ _

__“D’know,” he mumbled, relaxing back into Dean’s embrace with a contented sigh. “So good. Not painful.”_ _

__Dean froze for a moment, the arms around Castiel’s waist tightening. “Cas,” he grunted, “Nothing should ever hurt unless you want it to.”_ _

__“Mmh,” Castiel hummed once more, too high on endorphins to respond properly nor care. “Okay.”_ _

__His contented daze was interrupted when Dean moved to pull away, unwrapping himself from Castiel and discarding the condom. Castiel weakly voiced his complaint as Dean rolled him onto his back._ _

__“C’mon,” he urged, stripping the soiled pillowcases and heading towards the bathroom, “you don’t wanna be sleeping in the wet patch.”_ _

__Castiel forced himself to sit, stretching his arms above him and relishing in the way his back clicked. “You want me to stay?” he asked, brows furrowed as Dean returned with a wet washcloth._ _

__“What? Yeah, god, course I do,” Dean frowned, gingerly wiping the sticky wetness from Castiel’s stomach and thighs before cleaning himself._ _

__“Oh,” Castiel said, sinking back into the soft mattress as he watched._ _

__Dean threw the cloth in the direction of the bathroom and climbed back onto the bed, face pinched. “Well, unless you don’t want to.”_ _

__“I do,” Castiel replied, shifting over to make room. “I want to spend as much time with you as I can.”_ _

__“Heh, yeah,” Dean smiled faintly, fixing the sheets before pulling Castiel towards him, until they were able to share the remaining pillows between them. “Guess we got a few more weeks, right?”_ _

__“Right,” Castiel agreed dispassionately, burying his face in Dean’s overheated shoulder. He shut his eyes tightly, desperately wishing away the acrid taste that arose in his mouth._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ever so much to causidicus and sunshinewinchesters, they're the bestest.
> 
> Enjoy the feel-good times while you can, the angst tag ain't there for nothin'! ;)

“Mornin’,” Dean mumbled, pulling Castiel in closer and the comforter up higher around their ears. Castiel smiled sleepily as Dean wiggled towards him, pressing their foreheads together.

“Hello,” he murmured, reaching down blindly to link their free hands together.

Dean moaned in contentment, brushing their entwined hands along Castiel’s bare hip, and gods, it terrified Castiel how fierce the desire was to never be anywhere else. With a smile Dean hummed into Castiel’s hair, his breath tickling the errant curls. “Sure beats th’alarm clock.”

Castiel smiled, stroking Dean’s knuckles with his thumb. “When do you have to be in work?” he asked quietly as he snuggled deeper into Dean’s embrace, afraid that speaking too loudly would shatter their lazy, tranquil bubble.

“Nine,” the man replied, sleep clouding his speech as he curled his body around Castiel like an affectionate octopus. “Wha’s time now?”

Castiel swallowed away the lump in his throat, and reluctantly shuffled away until he was in better view of the clock on Dean’s nightstand. “Half-past seven.”

“D’wanna get up,” Dean grumbled, grabbing Castiel back towards him to tighten the grip around his waist and burying his face in Castiel’s unruly hair once more. “Too early for Saturday.”

The sleepy, childlike petulance warmed Castiel to his core, and he laughed, reaching his free hand up to rub soothingly at Dean’s nape. “I don’t think you have a choice.”

Dean grunted irritably, but eventually dragged them both to sit. “Come shower?” he asked, releasing Castiel’s hand to raise his arms in a spine-popping stretch. “Not getting up and leaving you in this nice warm bed if I can’t stay too.”

“Seems fair,” he agreed happily, allowing Dean to pull him out of bed and towards the bathroom. He shivered as the cool air attacked his skin, but felt no shame at his nudity, huddling close by Dean as they waited for the shower water to heat up. It only took a few seconds, and Dean quickly guided him under the hot spray of water, grinning when Castiel moaned at the way the wonderful water pressure felt on the aching muscles of his back. He closed the glass door behind them and edged under himself, the large cubicle rapidly filling with thick steam.

“Good, huh?” he chuckled against Castiel’s lips, wrapping arms around his waist and resting them there as they basked in the powerful streams of water. After a moment, Dean broke away to grab a bottle of shower gel, and Castiel watched through wet eyelashes as he poured out a handful, rubbing his palms together to create a soft white lather. His chest constricted when Dean reached over to run his hands in a sweep across Castiel’s shoulders and over his chest, working the bubbles under his arms and into his ribs and stomach with tender firmness.

He’d never experienced a kind of comfortable intimacy like this with anyone—no one had bathed him since infanthood. The combination of hot water pounding his back and the bubbly massage had him like putty in Dean’s hands, and when the man turned him to wash his back and lather shampoo in his hair, Castiel all but melted against the tiled wall.

“You’re amazing,” Castiel moaned as Dean worked shampoo into the base of his skull, strong fingers finding all of the sweet spots he never knew he had. Dean chuckled and pressed a kiss to Castiel’s temple, unfazed by the torrents of bubbles coating them both. Lazy caresses made their way down his neck and shoulders, and Castiel grabbed for the shower gel, eager to return the favor.

“It’s okay, I can do that,” Dean murmured, pulling him back to his chest.

Castiel glared. “There is no way you are denying me the chance to get my hands all over you, Winchester,” he grunted, working the gel into a lather like Dean had. The man laughed, holding his hands up in mock-surrender, and the way the water flattened his hair to his forehead and beaded on his long lashes was so endearing Castiel had to look away before his eyes watered. “Turn around.”

Dean complied with a smirk and bared his wet, muscular back for Castiel’s eager hands.

“Mmh,” he hummed as Castiel worked bubbles into his shoulders and back, hands drifting lower to brush across his ass and upper thighs. Castiel’s pulse raced at the sound of Dean's voice, but he forced himself to calm. After all, they were taking their time as it was, and an hour-long, _intimate_ shower wasn’t something they had the luxury of before Dean had to leave.

He had little experience in giving massages, having only received a few professional treatments himself at the behest of his older brother, but he threw himself head-first into the task. Rhythmically he swept across Dean’s back in wide arcs, working his thumbs into the knots of his shoulders until the muscle was loose and pliant under his fingers, and the man was limp and moaning with every touch.

Castiel tried desperately to control his building desire, ratcheting higher with every whimper from Dean’s lips, but when he rinsed off the bubbles and turned the man back to face him their hips knocked together, and with Dean’s thick, heavy erection nudging his own, his carefully constructed composure crumbled.

“What?” Dean shrugged teasingly, eyes bright at Castiel’s sharp intake of breath. “You try keeping your cool with a beautiful man stroking your ass.”

_Beautiful._ Gods, Castiel would never tire of the way the word sounded on Dean’s lips, the way it squeezed at his heart, even teasing as it was.

Castiel dipped in to tug at Dean’s plump lower lip with his teeth, filling his hands with more gel and washing Dean’s front, over his solid chest, the endearing softness of his lower stomach and slipping down to the sharp v-cut of his hips. Dean grunted around Castiel’s probing tongue as he made a loose fist around the man’s slippery cock, spreading the soft lather along Dean’s throbbing shaft. He reached for Castiel, hands coming to grab at his hips, but Castiel ducked out of the way with a cheeky grin, and dropped to his knees.

“Cas—” Dean began, eyes wide, but Castiel cut him off with a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the head of his cock. The tartness of soap filled his mouth, but he could still taste the distinctive, heady musk of Dean underneath. Castiel was about as experienced in oral sex as he was in massages, and his eagerness to please had him attempting to swallow Dean’s far from unimpressive length in one go. Tears flooded his eyes as he choked, and he had to grab Dean’s legs to stabilize himself.

“Woah, buddy,” Dean huffed out a heavy breath, threading fingers through his dripping hair to guide him backwards, until only the head breached his lips. “That’s something we gotta work up to, just start easy.”

Castiel nodded abashedly, returning his attention to Dean’s flushed length, unwinding a hand from his leg to wrap around the base and gradually sliding his mouth lower until he was nearly halfway down.

“Yeah, just like that,” Dean grunted, staring down at him with hooded lids as he ran his thumb along the edge of Castiel’s open lips. “Your mouth, Cas.”

Castiel was filled with pride as Dean groaned, and he grew in confidence, hand slipping lower to palm at his balls as he swirled his lips around the heated skin and laved at the sensitive frenulum. The intoxicating taste of Dean in his mouth had him whining, eyes sliding shut as his own erection pulsed between his legs.

“Oh shit,” Dean whimpered, thighs trembling under Cas’s grip as he pushed his tongue into the slit, lapping at the salty precome gathered there. He settled into a rhythm, and soon Dean was moaning with abandon, spreading Castiel's slick, swollen lips wide with stuttered thrusts. “I’m gonna— Cas—” Dean gasped, and Cas looked up at him, blind to the water hitting his face as he caught sight of the unabashed rapture on Dean's face. He sucked him down eagerly, able to take more of his length into his mouth than he had upon starting, and with a few unrestrained thrusts Dean cried out, fingers twisting in Castiel’s hair as he came, thighs taut under Castiel’s hand as hot, salty liquid filled his mouth.

Castiel swallowed it down, stroking him through the orgasm and tenderly lapping at the release that had spilled from his lips, eyes glued to Dean as he fell apart.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he gaped, legs trembling so much Castiel almost thought he was going to collapse. “That was… Get up here. Can’t leave you high and dry,” he panted, eyes glassy as he reached a shaking hand down to grab Castiel’s.

Castiel was hauled to his feet, and Dean maneuvered them both until a leg slipped between his own, and he grabbed at Castiel’s wet hips, pulling his body in close and urging him to thrust against the muscle of Dean’s thigh. Castiel’s head fell back with a guttural groan as slick fingers made their way to his still-tender rim, and one by one pressed their way in, thrusting in time with the stuttering of Castiel’s hips. The water had long-since gone cold, but his skin was so overheated that the chill was welcome. The friction of Dean’s skin against Castiel’s aching cock was euphoric, and when Dean’s fingertips found his swollen prostate, Castiel sobbed, burying his face in the man’s shoulder.

“God, you’re so hot,” Dean grunted, sucking Castiel’s earlobe between his teeth as his fingers assaulted the bundle of nerves. “If I were a few years younger, fuck, I’d be right there with you again.” He huffed out a laugh, grinding his thigh up between Castiel’s legs as a fourth finger stretched his hole impossibly wide, and that was all it took to have Castiel howling his release into Dean’s soaking skin.

He collapsed his weight onto Dean, who caught him effortlessly, gently removing his fingers and wrapping his arms around Castiel’s limp body.

“You okay?” Dean murmured, pulling him in close, until their dripping chests were flush.

Castiel garbled incoherently, heated cheek mashed against Dean’s collarbone as the now icy water beat down on his back.

“C’mon, we’re gonna freeze to death if we don’t get out of here,” he chuckled lowly, tilting Castiel’s head up for a final, drenched kiss before walking him towards the steamed glass door. They made quick work of drying themselves to ward off the chill in the bathroom, and together they headed into Dean's room.

Castiel watched with barely contained amusement as Dean rushed to pull on clean underwear and a pair of track shorts, hopping on one foot as he tried to drag them both up his legs. When he inevitably overbalanced, hitting the floor with a squawk, Castiel couldn’t hold his hysteria in for long enough to even help him up, crumpling at the waist as he laughed.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” Dean grumbled, crawling over to deliver a swift blow to the back of Castiel’s knees, bringing him tumbling down in a sprawled heap right on top of him.

Castiel howled until his stomach ached, face inelegantly mashed into Dean’s T-shirt as the man attacked his sensitive sides with merciless fingers. “Stop, please, I’m sorry,” Castiel gasped, writhing away.

Dean relented with a grin, bringing his hands up to cup the back of Castiel’s neck and pull him down to press a deep, throaty chuckle against his lips. “Damn right you are.”

As their laughter died down, Castiel leaned up on his elbows either side of Dean’s head, unable to keep the sappy smile from his lips as he stared at the unrestrained happiness on the man’s beautiful face.

“Whatcha up to today? Day off?” Dean asked, threading his fingers through the damp hair at Castiel’s nape.

“Unfortunately not,” Castiel sighed into the touch. “I have a considerable amount of research to write up.”

“Ah. No rest for the wicked, huh?” Dean smirked, lifting himself up to plant a kiss on Castiel’s unshaven chin. “Speaking of which, you better unwrap these gorgeous thighs from my waist before I have to call in sick,” he teased, aiming a swift slap to Castiel’s thinly covered ass.

Castiel glared as he extricated himself, but his lips couldn’t help but curl into a grin as he helped Dean to his feet. The easy affection between them was like nothing Cas had experienced before, and he adored every second of it.

“I always knew you’d be a firecracker, but I wasn’t expecting you to have me on my back within ten minutes of the last spectacular orgasm,” Dean winked.

Castiel rolled his eyes indulgently as he pulled on the sweats Dean had let him borrow and gathered up his own crumpled clothes to follow him down the stairs.

“Want a ride home, Cas?” Dean called back to him as he grabbed his jacket and keys.

“If you don’t mind,” Castiel smiled, pulling on his shoes.

“Naw, my pleasure. Sorry about the shitty send-off,” he turned to him with a frown, “I’d love to make you a real breakfast, but you’ve met Bobby. He’s like a dad to me, but he’ll have my balls if I wander in a few hours late.”

“It’s okay,” Castiel laughed, trailing behind Dean as held open the front door, then leaned in to press a kiss to Castiel’s chapped lips as he locked it behind them.

“Next time,” Dean promised, leading him to the Impala.

Castiel nodded, “I’ll hold you to that.”

They pulled up outside Gabriel’s apartment all too soon, and Dean turned to him with an uncharacteristically timid smile as the car idled in the driveway.

“I had a great time,” Dean said, pulling Cas across the bench seat. “I’ll call you?”

Castiel hummed his assent, leaning in to press a kiss to Dean’s lips. “Enjoy your day.”

“You too, honey,” Dean teased, confident facade returning, “I’ll be back at six sharp in time for dinner with you and the kids.”

Castiel snickered, scooting back over to the passenger door and opening it. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Watch your step as you get out, Baby has a history of tripping the pretty ones!”

With a roll of his eyes, Castiel closed the door.

Dean left with a cocky smirk, and as he watched the Impala disappear, Castiel chided himself as being ridiculous for feeling that the man driven off with a vital, indispensable part of him.

They texted on and off for the next few days, and Dean even called him late Saturday night when he got in from work, both of them curled up in their respective beds, and the way Dean adamantly stayed on the line until Castiel fell asleep hurt his heart in the most bittersweet of ways.

Was that the way it would be once Castiel moved, he wondered to himself as he stared blankly down at _The Biblical Archaeologist_ in front of him, nothing but texts and calls, decreasing in frequency as time went on until they forgot one another entirely? Or was such meagre contact even too much to hope for? He felt stupid for even considering raising the suggestion of a long distance relationship — he didn’t know what they were, exactly, but he knew they weren’t that.

His sombre musings were cut short by the buzzing of his phone on the table beside him, and his lips twitched into a sad smile at the sight of Dean’s name on his screen

**What you up to**

_Do you even have to ask? I’m at the library,_ he replied. Seconds later his phone went off again, and he lifted it off of the desk to silence the obnoxious vibrating noise.

**Hell, Cas, have you not read the place dry yet?**

He chuckled to himself at Dean’s teasing response and quickly typed out his own, holding his phone in his hands and abandoning all pretext of working as he waited for a reply.

_Hardly. I’d need a hundred years and intravenous coffee to ever do that. I'm exhausted enough as it is._

After a few moments of lifelessness from the device, he let it rest on his thigh, and attempted to direct his attention back to his half-empty thermos and open textbook. It wasn’t until sometime later, after he had almost forgotten he was waiting for a responding message at all, that his phone buzzed atop of his leg.

**Grab your books and get your sweet ass out here,** the message read, and Castiel’s brows furrowed in confusion.

_Pardon?_

Dean’s response was almost instantaneous, and as he read it, an unwilling smile spread across his face.

**I’m in the parking lot, third row on the left from the front between the crappy Fiesta and a silver Yaris**

Quickly he got to his feet, gathering his materials up and shoving them into his satchel and heading for the door.

“Where’s the fire, Castiel?” Becky winked from the front desk.

“My ride is waiting,” Castiel said as he passed her, unable to hide his grin.

Becky giggled, “I bet!” but he was too happy to be embarrassed.

“Goodbye,” he called cheerfully as he darted through the security gates and out into the parking lot. The gleaming black and chrome of Dean’s car was unmissable, exactly where he said it would be, and Castiel eagerly crossed the concrete towards it. He aimed for nonchalant as he wandered over to lean in the open passenger window, but the sound of Dean exuberantly singing along to the radio broke him down.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Jump in quick,” Dean grinned, “I got off early, so I’m breaking you out.”

Castiel laughed as he climbed in the passenger seat. “You know, I didn’t tell you where I was as a hint for you to rescue me.”

Dean shrugged as he fired up the ignition. “Yeah well, I could sense you needed it. Doing my good deed for the day and all.”

Castiel smiled fondly as Dean pulled out of the parking lot, fingers drumming on the steering wheel along to the Metallica on the radio. “If you say so.”

“Anything exciting happen today?” Dean asked, reaching his free hand across the bench set to twine with Castiel’s.

“Depends,” Castiel said, staring down contentedly at their tangled fingers. “Probably not anything you would personally find exciting.”

“Try me,” Dean turned to him with briefly, soon returning his eyes to the road. “I’m not entirely book-phobic.”

Castiel quirked a smile, pleasantly surprised that Dean was even interested. “I spent the majority of the day attempting translations of Deuteronomy to practice my Biblical Hebrew, if you deem that exciting.”

Dean’s gaped at him. “You know _Hebrew?_ ”

“Proficiency in ancient linguistics is kind of a job requirement,” Castiel laughed.

“Damn,” Dean whistled, shaking his head. “The things you learn about a guy. That’s what you’ve been doing all day?”

Castiel smiled. “I stopped to chat with Becky, the receptionist you once met, for a while. The head of archives has decided to prematurely retire, which has apparently caused a stir in the department. Becky informed me that they’re currently in the process of hiring her replacement.”

“Head of archives?” Dean asked, dubiously raising an eyebrow. “That sounds… exhilarating.”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, but I think it does. To run the system that collects and protects rare, and even priceless books, overseeing the university’s collection and being able to travel internationally to accumulate new artefacts as part of your job? I envy the person who gets it.”

“Yeah?” Dean murmured, surprise lacing his voice. “I guess it does sound pretty _Indy_. Why don’t you apply?”

Castiel laughed, watching the streets pass through the window. “As much as I’d love to, I’m not exactly qualified.”

Dean snorted. “Cas, you’re the most qualified dude I’ve ever met. You know _Hebrew._ I’d hire you in a heartbeat, and that’s without the mental image of the fedora and the bullwhip.”

“Well I’m pretty sure you’re biased,” he grinned. “Sadly you can’t just walk into careers like that with a few degrees and a passion for precious books; applicants like that are a dime a dozen at universities. You actually need archivist qualifications and previous experience.”

“Looks like you’ve researched it pretty well,” Dean commented.

“Only for around twenty minutes, and definitely not seriously,” Castiel disagreed lightly. Even that had been mostly out of curiosity, anyway. He’d never _seriously_ considered...

“Why not go for it? What’s the worst they can do, turn down your application? Then more fool them, you’ve got a job lined up at Harvard. You were more enthusiastic about this archiving gig than I think I’ve ever seen you,” he said.

“Hmm,” Castiel responded vaguely. “Maybe.”

That night when Castiel got home, he fired up his laptop and, heart in his throat, clicked the bookmarked tab of the University’s employment page.

 

* * *

 

As July turned to August, a heatwave hit that left Cas’ running clothes plastered to his skin on his first early morning run of the month. The heat served as no deterrent though, his feet pounded out a sharp rhythm on the pavement, and he pushed his legs faster, lungs burning in his chest as he lost himself in the blissful headspace where anxiety couldn’t touch him. Where all he felt was the burn of lactic acid in his muscles and the sweat drenching his shirt, and not the gnawing twist of worry in his gut over the stupid job application, or the anxiety of a whole new start, or the nausea that came with acknowledging he had to leave Dean behind.

He floated, thoughts silenced as he stretched out his hamstrings and quadriceps out in the parking lot, and took a leisurely cooldown jog up the stairs to Gabriel’s apartment feeling cleansed and relaxed, as if he could finally breathe again despite the stifling heat. He unlocked the front door and headed for the kitchen to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, stripping his shirt and throwing it in the washer as pulled his silenced phone from his pocket.

The screen lit up with a message, and Castiel peered down at the ‘one missed call’ popup. He frowned as he leaned against the counter and took a mouthful of water, holding the phone to his ear to listen to the voice message.

“Dr. Novak, this is Naomi Milton calling from the University of Kansas’ recruitment office,” a well-spoken woman began, and his heart stopped in his chest, water bottle frozen halfway to his mouth. “The department’s interview panel found your application impressive, and would like to meet for a formal discussion regarding your qualifications and prospects.” She rattled off a number in Castiel’s ear to call back, but he was deafened by the roar of his now-racing pulse in his ears.

The message had long since finished, but the automated instructions on how to skip or delete were lost on Castiel as he stood there, phone pressed against his ear.

It had been a safe bet that his CV was going to be discarded before the ink was even dry, he’d never in a million years believed that they would be _interested_ in him.

He blindly placed the bottle and phone on the counter behind him, and ambled towards the bathroom on numb legs. He peeled off his shorts and underwear and stepped straight into the spray, barely noticing the icy chill of water yet to be heated as it struck down on his skin.

Your qualifications and prospects, he blinked, washing himself as if on autopilot. Redundant degrees and his name on a stack of dry theological articles.

Castiel wasn’t sure how long his shower lasted, but by the time he realized he was just standing under the stream, staring at the droplets as they ran down the tiles, the water had run cold again. With a deep breath he shut off the shower and climbed out, drying himself sufficiently on a towel and heading to the guest room with a lump in his throat. He pulled on the first items of clothing his hands came across, a plain white T-shirt and the oversized, borrowed sweatpants, then went about clearing up after himself with heavy limbs, refilling his water bottle and loading the washing machine.

Prospects? As far as they was concerned, surely he had none.

Castiel wandered, unseeing towards the door, grabbing his keys and slipping on his shoes. He needed to get out, to walk, to clear his head. The phone call couldn’t have come before his run, when he had energy to burn.

He headed back out onto the street, everything illuminated by the rays from the sun overhead, but was no longer captivated by the beauty of the blooming flowers that lined the street, or the scent of freshly cut grass in the air. He could focus on nothing but the gnawing pit in his stomach as he crossed the road, eyes on the pavement.

He had no destination in mind, but when he looked around him sometime later, he found himself on a somewhat familiar street. Castiel shook himself, coming to a stop at the foot of Dean’s empty driveway, staring blankly at the house.

Dean was at work, or out somewhere, doing something with his life. Castiel felt so stupid as he made his way to the porch, sitting down on the edge. He should have called, would have done if he’d known this was where he was headed. Should go home and deal with what was in front of him the way he usually did — calm, collected and level-headed.

He buried his head in his hands, never having felt less resolved in his life. He had always had a plan, always knew what the next step was, but this —

“Cas?” His head lifted at the rich, warm voice, and he watched as Dean slammed the Impala’s door and came jogging up to driveway toward him. “What’s wrong, are you okay?” Dean asks, slamming his car door and jogging up the path towards him.

“I— Sorry, I should have called, I don’t mean to impose.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean frowned, coming to crouch beside him. “You’re not imposing, what’s going on?”

He stared into the depths of Dean’s clover eyes, and swallowed painfully. “They want me to go in for an interview.”

“Huh?”

“The university. They called this morning.”

“Are you kidding? I didn’t even know you applied, that’s awesome!” Dean grinned, throwing his arms around Castiel and pulling him in tight. The warm, familiar scent encompassed him, but he couldn’t force himself to relax. “Isn’t it?”

He pulled back far enough to peer down at him, and Cas stared back wide eyed.

“...Why do you look like you’re about to have a panic attack?” Dean hedged, concern clouding his features.

“Because I might,” he breathed. “I can’t go, Dean, I’m not qualified. I can’t stand up in front of a panel of interviewers when I’ve never done a day’s archiving in my life, I’m just wasting their time.”

Dean shook his head, pulling Castiel to his feet. “Cas, you got this, I know you do. And if they didn’t think so too, they wouldn’t be interviewing you.”

“What if I don’t got this?” he grunted, allowing Dean to lead him into the house.

“Then it doesn’t matter,” the man said, giving him a small smile as they entered the kitchen and he started the coffee maker. “You’ve got Harvard lined up, right? Walk outta there, head high, with a ‘fuck you very much’ and you can forget all about it.”

Dean came to sit across from him at the table, in the seats they always gravitated towards, and squeezed his hand comfortingly across the table.

“You’re right,” Castiel nodded determinedly. “What have I got to lose?”

Dean beamed so brightly that Castiel’s heart melted in his chest, and he leaned across the table to press a kiss to their interlocked fingers. “Nothing at all.”

Castiel cracked a tiny smile, interlocking their fingers tighter. Gods, how wrong Dean was.

Nervously, he called Naomi back and arranged an interview date. When the day finally rolled around, he found himself sat rigidly in the passenger seat of Dean’s car, desperately trying to recall his prepared, generic interview answers.

“Cas? You with me, buddy?” Dean asked from beside him.

“Sorry, yes,” Castiel replied woodenly, straightening his tie for the hundredth time.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dean hummed, turning to Castiel in his seat and tilting his chin up with a finger so their eyes would meet. “You look smoking, and you’re gonna do great.”

“I appreciate your faith,” Castiel smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of Dean’s freckle-smattered nose. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

Dean snorted, bending over Castiel to fumble around the bench seat at his side. “We’re not going anywhere until you’ve put your damn seatbelt on. No amount of stressing’s worth your safety.”

“Apologies, it’s a bad habit,” Castiel flushed as Dean secured the belt around him and fastened his own.

“Comfort eating is a bad habit, Cas, or biting your nails. Sitting in a car without a seatbelt is a death wish, no matter how awesome the driver. You definitely can’t have the pimpmobile back if you’re just gonna throw yourself straight out the windshield,” the man teased, interlinking their fingers in a familiar gesture as they pulled out onto the road.

The journey went far too quickly, and before he knew it, they were coming to a stop in the university’s parking lot. Castiel took a deep breath to steady himself, and straightened his cuffs a final time before grabbing his bag. Dean pulled him in for a brief kiss, squeezing a hand on Castiel’s knee.

“I’ll be right out here the whole time,” he said.

“Thank you,” Castiel smiled. “And thank you again for driving me.”

He climbed from the car with a nervous wave and crossed the parking lot with butterflies in his stomach. If he allowed himself to imagine, if he was given the opportunity to stay— no, he berated himself. He couldn’t indulge in a fantasy so reckless.

With a steadying breath, he stepped through the automatic doors. An hour and twenty minutes later, he ambled back out, making his way to the Impala with downcast eyes.

“How did it go?” Dean asked, all but bouncing with anticipation when Castiel reached the car.

“I— I don’t know,” Castiel frowned as he slipped into the seat. “Not very well, I don’t think.”

“Yeah?” Dean frowned, the excitement slipping from his face as he slid across the bench to pull Castiel into a hug. “What happened?”

“There was an incredibly scrutinizing interview panel. All the meeting proved was that I’m overqualified for any vacancies I could realistically fill, and painfully underqualified for the one I applied.” He bit his lip, gaze falling to where his hands sat limply in his lap. “I just… I feel stupid.”

“Well, screw ‘em,” Dean grunted, tightening his arms around Castiel’s shoulders. “They wouldn’t know a dream employee if one bit them in the ass.”

Castiel sniffed a sad laugh. “If that’s correct interview protocol, I’ll definitely be rejected.”

“Let’s get out of here then,” Dean said with a comforting smile. “You spend enough time at this damned library as it is.”

Castiel nodded, biting his lip and blankly staring out of the window as Dean drove. Gods, he was such an idiot. Try as he might, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from getting his hopes up.

As the university disappeared behind them, he turned to watch Dean’s hands on the wheel with longing, fingers twitching in his lap. The man caught his actions from the corner of his eye, and turned to glance at Castiel with raised eyebrows and a look of realization on his face.

“You miss driving?” he asked, and Castiel hummed noncommittally.

“In moments like this,” he sighed. “I like the freedom, the distraction. Second only to running, it’s my favorite form of escape.”

“I hear that,” Dean chuckled, and after a moment he pulled up at the side of the road.

Castiel frowned in bemusement as Dean cut the ignition and opened his door. “What are you doing?”

“Hop out, Cas,” the man instructed with a bright smile, jogging round to the passenger side. “You’re driving.”

“What? Are you sure?” Castiel asked, eyes wide as he surveyed Dean’s face for any hint of insincerity or doubt.

“Yep, c’mon, I trust ya. Chances are you won’t blow a head gasket in a half-mile cruise,” Dean grinned, chucking him the keys.

“I—thank you,” he mumbled, touched sincerity coloring his tone as he clasped the keys tightly in his hand shuffled across the seat.

“It’s nothing, Cas,” Dean smiled, climbing in shotgun. “You’ll be fine, I’m right next to you. But for god’s sake put your seatbelt on, Evel Knievel, y’ain’t pulling windshield canons in my car.”

“Of course,” Castiel agreed, hastening to buckle himself in.

“How about we head to the Roadhouse?” Dean asked, draping his arm across Castiel’s shoulders as he started the engine. “I’m starving.”

Castiel swallowed back the lump in his throat, blinking through the stinging in his eyes and forcing a smile. “Okay,” he said.

No one but yourself to blame, he told himself as he guided the car back onto the road. He had known better than to even humor the idea of a happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, thanks and thanks again for everyone's support!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit delayed!! 
> 
> Thanks so much, as always, to causidicus and sunshinewinchesters, the greatest betas a girl could have.
> 
> Without further ado, here comes trouble... ;)

Castiel took a languorous stretch as he shuffled out into the hallway, towards the kitchen. It was still early, but Castiel had woken up beside Dean enough times now to know that without caffeine in his system, the man was unreachable before nine a.m.

With a yawn, he grabbed his phone from the kitchen counter with one hand and flicked the power on the coffee maker with his spare. He gave a fond smile, rolling his eyes at the numerous missed calls and voice messages from his temperamental brother, deciding to ignore them in favor of skimming his emails while he waited for the coffee to brew. 

_Received 09.32: Offer of Position_

His eyes widened at the sending address of his most recent email, and his heart stopped as he took in the words that comprised the message’s subject. Without breathing, he tapped to open it; long after the coffee maker had beeped its completion, he was still staring at the screen, eyes almost unseeing.

“Something important?” Castiel jumped as muscular arms wrapped around his bare waist.

“No, I— just a work thing,” he said stiffly as he locked his phone. And technically that wasn’t even a lie, but it felt enough like one to linger on his tongue like a bad taste.

Dean hummed, nuzzling into the exposed skin of Castiel’s neck. “So are you gonna come back to bed of your own volition, or do I have to carry you there myself?” 

“As if you could,” he murmured distractedly, discarding his phone on the counter. The single email had managed to turn his whole world on its head, had taken everything he knew and had planned on, and shaken it to the ground. But wasn’t this what he wanted? Gods, he didn’t even know. How could he decide what to do when he no longer had faith in his own judgement? 

“Don’t test me, Dr. Novak,” Dean drawled, and Castiel looked up to see a positively devious grin on the man’s scruffy face. His eyes widened, but before Castiel could hold his hands up in protest, Dean was ducking down and swinging him over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” Castiel laughed despite himself, shell-shock momentarily forgotten as his face mashed against Dean’s bicep. “You’re not seriously dragging me back to your bed like a caveman. This is depraved.”

“Sorry to disappoint, guess I’m not as refined as your usual lovers,” he teased, throwing Cas down onto the mattress and pouncing before he’d even managed to right himself.

“Mmh, you do have a certain troglodytic charm,” Cas smirked, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck and dragging him into a heated kiss. 

Dean pulled back with a snort, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Castiel’s boxers as he kissed his way down his chest. “You’re lucky your brains and your smart words turn me on,” Dean mock-glared up at him, and Castiel couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Aren’t I just,” he snickered, relaxing into Dean’s ministrations with a low moan. 

He didn’t have to think about it right then. Really, all he had to do was lay back and enjoy the hot suction of Dean’s lips around his cock. 

It took him a full twenty-four hours after Dean's departure to work up the courage to reopen the email. Castiel read through the attached documents on his laptop for what felt like the hundredth time, downing his umpteenth cup of coffee with shaking hands. It was… well, it was an undeniably fantastic offer. The nausea in his stomach ratcheted as he trawled through the proposal once more. 

After another whole day of complete counterproductivity cooped up in Gabriel’s office, acquiring nothing but a probable stress-induced hernia, he ran fingers through his disheveled hair for the final time, grabbed his phone and headed to speed dial. There was only a single ring, and at the hyper-cheerful greeting, Castiel took a deep breath. 

“Gabriel, if you’re not busy, I’m in need of some advice.” 

After a pause, Gabriel answered, and Castiel could all but see the raised brows on his face. “And you’re voluntarily coming to me? Not that I’m anything but the paragon of guidance, but you never usually take it,” he said. “Or even want it.” 

“It’s… of an impulsive and potentially reckless nature,” Castiel admitted with a croak.

“Aha,” Gabriel snickered down the phone, and the familiarity in his brother’s voice was a comfort to his frazzled nerves. “My speciality. What’s shaking, Cassie?”

He forced his tense limbs to stop pacing, and pulled up a stool at the breakfast bar to perch on as he bit his lip. “I’ve been offered a position in the University of Kansas’ research library,” he announced, sounding every bit as unassertive as he felt. “They… they’re taking a huge chance with me, Gabriel. As per the department’s offer, I’d start off as an archivist intern while they fast track me through the required qualifications, but if I meet their prerequisites by my six-month assessment I’ll be promoted to head of archives.”

There was a moment of complete silence, and Castiel pulled the phone away from his face for a second to see if the call had cut off.

“...Jesus H. Christ,” Gabriel breathed across the line when Castiel returned the phone to his ear.

“Not exactly helping,” he frowned tightly, nervously bouncing his knee. He’d never been like this before, had no idea what he was doing, and even Gabriel, Gabriel, who had been silenced by nothing in his near thirty years of life, was struggling for words. 

“No, I— Castiel, that’s awesome,” his brother cut through his panic, sounding a little more like his usual self. “What the hell made you apply?”

Castiel hesitated, but only considered withholding the truth for a moment. Gabriel could see right through his poorly constructed lies anyway. “Well, I met someone.”

Gabriel choked, spluttering down the line. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“Don’t mock me,” Castiel grumbled, running a hand through his hair in frustration. 

“Dude, I just never thought I’d see the day. Up until I witnessed the hanky panky in James Dean’s muscle car, I thought you were one of those asexual mollusks that reproduce with themselves.” 

Castiel snorted, slumping on his elbows across the breakfast bar. “Charming.”

"Can't blame a guy," he said lightly. "Jokes aside, what do you want to do?” Gabriel asked, equal parts curiosity and unusual concern coloring his tone. 

Castiel paused, but there was no need to deliberate before his gut instinct spoke for him. “I… I think I want to take it.”

“Then you march right in there and you tell them to sign you up, little bro,” Gabriel fondly commanded. "You want something, you reach out and grab it with both hands. No brainer."

“Can you imagine?” Castiel choked out a humorless laugh. “I don’t think I’ll be invited for Christmas ever again if I do.”

Gabriel snorted along. “Join the club, Castiel. If our mother knew half of what my lifestyle entails she’d strap me down and call a priest for an exorcism. Forget them, we can make our own turkey.” 

Castiel sighed, releasing his abused lip from between his teeth. “You’re incredibly blasé about disownment.” 

“Yeah well,” Gabriel sniffed, “our nearest and dearest are all bigoted, pretentious bastards. You know me and the girls are happy to have you, you’re welcome in my place indefinitely.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, rubbing his aching eyes with the palm of his free hand. “The girls?” he groaned. “I’ve already said I’m not participating in any orgies, Gabriel, stop trying to coerce me.”

His brother choked, breaking out into hysterical giggles. “I meant the fish, you heathen!” 

Castiel chuckled, the laughter infectious, and found his lips curling into a small grin. “Thank you, Gabriel. It means a lot to me.”

“Yeah well, guess there was an apple or two that managed to roll away from the crappy tree,” his brother said with a wistful sigh before clearing his throat and gaining a particularly lecherous tone. “Anyways I gotta go, Cas, there are three naked latinos I’ve left for far too long in my bed. You know how it is, don’t want the fun to start without me!” 

“Gabriel,” Castiel warned with a roll of his eyes. It had proven absolutely impossible over the previous weeks for his brother to call him without some insight into his exotic sexcapades, but as exasperating as it was, hearing about them proved to be a strange shot of normalcy in amongst the rubble that was his once carefully constructed life.

Gabriel laughed gleefully, ever pleased to make Castiel squirm. “I mean it though,” he said. “You do what you gotta do, Castiel. I’m behind you one-hundred percent.”

“Thank you,” Castiel smiled as he hung up, new-found confidence steadying his voice. 

If he’d ever had a dream occupation, this was it. If he took it, if he stayed in Lawrence, he could make up for neglected time with his brother. Could even attempt to visit the rest of his family more often, if rejecting Harvard wasn’t a move that burned all remaining bridges. He could stay with Dean.

Dean, who had rocked his world, who had touched and held him as if he was something to be treasured. Who had wholeheartedly informed him that apathy just wasn’t good enough. As a smile lifted the corner of his lips, Castiel realized that he was right.

Shoving himself away from the kitchen island and coming to stand, Castiel pocketed his phone and grabbed for his keys, barely remembering to slip a pair of shoes on and flick off the lights before he was slamming the front door behind him and taking the darkened stairs two at a time. 

He’d never felt this burning energy inside him before, the sudden perfect clarity of _knowing_ what he wanted. It made the journey to Dean’s house, stiff dress shoes and all, fly by, the racing of his pulse nothing to do with the brisk walk he’d kept up the whole way. His heart lurched as Dean’s house came into sight, but the nervous jolt in his chest felt… good.

With a deep breath, Castiel jogged up to the brightly lit porch with a spring in his step, barely able to keep himself still as he rang the bell and waited for an answer. He found himself bouncing on the spot as the torturous moments dragged on and on, until finally, the door swung open.

Dean’s hair was damp and sticking up at all angles, the longer strands at the front beaded with water and dripping down onto his forehead. Castiel’s racing heart stopped dead in his chest at the sight. This was what he wanted, and gods, if he wasn’t going to grab it with both hands.

“Cas?” Dean blinked at him, a radiant smile breaking out across his freckle-smattered face. “What are you doing here, I thought you weren’t coming over until—”

The man grunted, stumbling slightly on his feet when Cas threw himself forward into his solid chest, arms winding tightly around Dean’s neck as their mouths came together. Dean gasped against his lips, body locked momentarily before he relaxed, mouth yielding to Castiel’s own with a groan as his hands came to clasp at his waist.

Castiel ran his tongue along the seam of Dean’s chapped lips, intoxicated by the man’s warm, spicy scent. His fingers threaded through the wet hair at Dean’s nape, and he hummed languorously when Dean’s lips parted, allowing his tongue to slip inside and brush against his own. 

Castiel floated, held down only by Dean’s fingers clenched tightly at his sides, a full body shudder running through him as Castiel stroked across the roof of his mouth and along the backs of his teeth with the tip of his tongue. 

How stupid he’d been to ever imagine he could live without this. With heaving breath Dean broke his mouth away, and the flush of his cheeks and glazed eyes filled Castiel with jolts of pleasure.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he gasped against Castiel’s slick lips, “but…”

“I wanted to see you,” Castiel admitted unapologetically, letting Dean kick the door shut and back him up against it. “Apparently it couldn’t wait until tomorrow.” 

Dean chuckled throatily, running his hands down Castiel’s back to his ass as their mouths met once more. “Shit, talk about a warm hello,” he teased, pulling away enough to box Castiel in with palms either side of his head. “What’s got you so perky?”

“Right now?” Cas smirked, tugging at Dean’s lower lip with his teeth as his fingers fumbled with the waistband of Dean’s track pants. “The fact that I happened to catch you going commando.”

Dean’s head tipped back as he laughed, and the rich, melodic sound pulled Castiel’s swollen lips into a grin. “I just got out of the shower.”

“I see,” Castiel hummed, mouthing at the skin of Dean’s throat. 

“And it’s getting late you know, I was just heading to bed…” he whispered conspiratorially, threading his fingers through the belt loops of Castiel’s pants and pulling him along as he stepped backwards.

“Don’t let me keep you,” Castiel smiled, allowing the man to lead him up the stairs. 

He could have this every day, he realized, and the thought nearly had him giddily tripping over his own feet as the two of them fumbled for Dean’s bedroom. Dean threw a disarming smirk over his shoulder at Castiel, and his stomach tied itself into knots at the sight.

“Your Bambi legs really give my kissing skills too much credit,” he beamed, tugging Castiel towards him as they tumbled back onto the bed, his mouth latching onto the newly exposed skin of Castiel’s collarbone as he pulled off his shirt.

“Do you _like_ Bambi, by any chance?” Castiel huffed out a laugh, arching his back as Dean’s oral assault lowered to his nipples.

Dean snorted against his skin, and Castiel whimpered when he bit down on his spit-slicked, pebbled nipple. “Hell no, I’m an American alpha male,” he grunted, and Castiel laughed through a moan at the attention he was paying to his sensitive flesh. “I like football and action movies. And cars, and guns, and whiskey.”

Castiel's eyes rolled back in his head as Dean's fingers danced up his stomach and chest to pinch at his neglected nipple, nudging his thighs apart with his knees. “The lady doth protest too much,” he breathily snickered, legs spreading wider to accommodate Dean's hips. 

“Shaddup.” Castiel glanced down to see Dean's cheeks flushing beautifully, and the way he hid his face against Castiel's skin as he fumbled to rid him of his slacks made his chest ache. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” he swore, fingers threading through Dean’s hair while he lifted his hips for his pants and underwear to be removed. 

"Yeah yeah," Dean grumbled heatlessly, pulling away to shed his own T-shirt before turning back to him with a falter. 

Castiel opened his arms to welcome the man, but Dean only stared, sitting back on his heels with a low whistle. Castiel's brows furrowed, and his arms faltered to his bare sides. 

“What...?" he asked, glancing down at himself as Dean scanned his naked body with his eyes. 

“Nothing, I—" Dean said, voice breathless as he shook his head. "You’d think after all this time that the sight of you like this wouldn’t still knock the wind outta me.”

Castiel blinked up at him for a long moment, heart skipping a beat in his chest. “All this time? It’s only been a few months.”

Dean crawled up to him slowly, taking in every inch of him before stopping with his knees straddling Castiel’s bare hips, and his palms on either side of his head. “Still just as gorgeous,” Dean murmured dazedly against the dimple of his chin, laving at the sensitive skin of his throat as if Castiel had never spoken. “You’re a hard act to follow, Novak.” 

The words wound like a vice around Castiel’s windpipe, and he bit sharply at his lower lip as he fumbled to shove at Dean’s sweats, needing the skin-on-skin contact. What he so desperately wanted to say, the jubilant ‘I can stay!’, bubbled up behind his lips, but he forcefully swallowed it back as Dean shucked his pants. He didn’t know that Dean felt the same, and he had to be sure. He wasn't strong enough to do it alone, to throw out everything that had been planned for him and start a brand new life. He wasn’t. 

He wanted to take the job so badly it hurt, to shuck the weight of a lifetime of expectations and do what he wanted, now he had realized what it was. Staying with the man who stared up at him as if the stars shone from his eyes was a bonus he had never expected, let alone thought he deserved. But there he was, writhing on the bed as Dean’s naked body came into contact with his own, their hips rolling together in time with their lazily twining tongues, and he nearly unwound his arms from Dean’s neck to pinch himself.

“I wanna be inside you, Cas,” Dean moaned against his lips, fingers grasping at Castiel’s thighs. “Want it so bad.” 

“Yes, do it,” Castiel wholeheartedly assented, bucking up into every downward stroke of Dean’s solid cock against his own. Even if every cell of his body hadn’t been screaming out for it, Dean could have asked for the moon with that desperate, earnest look in his hazy clover eyes, and Castiel would have stolen it gladly.

Dean huffed disapprovingly around his tongue, pulling away to rifle in his nightstand despite Castiel’s protestations at the way the sudden lack of stimulation made his cock throb agonizingly. “No self-preservation,” the man tsked, inching his way back down between Castiel’s spread thighs. “Get these beautiful legs over my shoulders.”

Castiel allowed himself to be manhandled until his knees were hooked either side of Dean’s neck, his back arching with a moan as Dean teased around his navel with the tip of his tongue, trailing lower to mouth at the hammering pulsepoint over his femoral artery. His cock stood proudly, throbbing in time with the circular caresses of Dean’s thumbs on his outer thighs, the swollen head torturously nudging against the smooth skin of Dean’s throat with every dip of the man’s head. 

Castiel lifted his head to admonish the teasing, but as he shifted, Dean looked up at him to catch his eye, and swallowed him down to the base.

He let out an animalistic cry, hips rising off the bed as he bucked into the tight wetness of Dean’s throat. A dry finger traced from the back of his balls, over his perineum and circled his hole, and Castiel whimpered at the dual stimulation, unable to break his eyes away from Dean’s as they stared up at him with hooded lids.

With a pop, he pulled off of his cock, the string of saliva from his lips to the tip nearly doing Castiel in as his eyes zoned in on it. His tongue dipped in to lave at the tender skin of Castiel’s swollen balls, slipping lower to press tantalizingly against the nerve endings behind them in long, broad strokes. 

“What happened to being inside me?” Castiel grunted, pushing back into the pressure of Dean’s tongue as the man hoisted his hips higher. 

“Patience, young grasshopper,” Dean hummed, tongue trailing down to brush at Castiel’s rim. “Gonna have you crying around my fingers first.”

Dean nosed tenderly at his balls, pressing slippery wet, open mouthed kisses to his perineum that left Castiel stolen of breath, and clenching his thighs tightly around Dean’s shoulders, and with a contented grunt, the man teased a single lubed finger against his spit-slicked hole.

“Please,” Castiel begged, and Dean moaned in assent, caressing tender flesh with his lips as the thick finger breached him.

“Mm, you always beg so pretty for me, Cas,” Dean grunted against his overheated skin, sliding his tongue down to circle his slowly thrusting finger. “I could tease you forever and love every second of it.”

“ _More_ ," Castiel ground out, pushing down onto the finger Dean pointedly kept away from his prostate. “Need more.”

“I know you do, gorgeous,” he said, pulling away with a final kiss to his inner thigh, throwing Castiel a smile so disarming that he almost missed the tantalizing stretch of a second finger following the first. “Relax, you know I always take care of you.”

Castiel whined, head falling back on the crumpled pillows as Dean crawled up his body, fingers of the man’s free hand tangling in his unruly hair and pulling him in for a breathless kiss, while his aching rim was stretched wide around three fingers. Castiel’s hands clawed desperately at Dean’s body, needing to have him closer. The press of Dean’s heated, muscular chest against his own was ambrosial, and he cried out into his mouth when skilled fingers traced slow, captivating circles around his swollen prostate.

His hips bucked, and he balanced on the delicious precipice of too much and not enough when Dean increased the pressure, fingertips rubbing firmly over the bundle of frazzled nerves.

This is where he needed to be. He could see it so clearly, how _perfect_ it was. Dean’s nose brushing his own, his hot breath in Castiel’s mouth, fingers tugging at his hair, hips rutting against his splayed thighs.

The heavy air around them was drenched in the rich, spicy scent of Dean, and every frantic inhale filled Castiel to the brim with it.

“I can’t,” he whimpered against Dean’s cherry red lips as the man’s assault continued, a thick stream of precome trailing down the underside of his neglected cock as his hips stuttered. “Please, _please_ , I can’t.”

“Hell yeah you can,” Dean whispered brokenly around Castiel’s slack lips, eyes alight with desire, groaning along with every one of Castiel’s pathetic cries that came from each well-aimed thrust of strong, calloused fingers. “I’ve seen it and it’s fucking perfect.”

“No, I— I want it to be with you. Please, I need it,” he pleaded, unable to pull himself away from the torturous pleasure that Dean’s nimble hands provided. 

“Fuck,” Dean snarled, head dropping to Castiel’s shoulder as his hips rolled, and his precome-slick cock dragged against Castiel’s skin. After an unsuccessful attempt at a steadying breath the man lifted himself, and after a final scissoring of those sinful fingers inside Castiel’s throbbing hole, he pulled away entirely, grabbing for the condom on the nightstand.

Rationally, Castiel knew it had to be done, but he couldn’t hold back the cries that fell from his chapped lips at the sudden loss, hips canting up into nothing as his hands tore at the sheets. “Dean,” he whined, head tossing on the pillow as he fought for composure.

“Shh,” the man hushed him as he climbed back onto the bed, hands grasping at every inch of Castiel’s exposed skin. “I’m right here.” 

A cheeky grin broke out across his flushed face, and Castiel’s heart picked up to double time in his heaving chest. The man swung a leg over Castiel’s and manouvered himself between his trembling thighs, stroking adoringly at his calves with his free hand as he rolled the condom on and covered his solid cock in lubricant, head tipping back with a hiss as he spread the slick along his length.

Castiel clamped down on the sheets around him in preparation, but his fingers closed around something cool and impossibly soft, and he was momentarily distracted, lifting the material so he could see it.

“Dean, what…?” he started, staring at the scarlet panties he held crumpled in his hand. He blinked in disorientation, thoughts running a mile a minute.

“Oh shit,” Dean stuttered, frozen in his spot between Castiel’s thighs, like a deer in headlights. “Listen, I— I…” he trailed off weakly, heating rising in his cheeks.

“Have you had a woman in your bed?” Castiel asked, as impassive as he could, erection flagging as he watched Dean rake a hand through his hair in struggle for words. 

“They’re… Cas, look, please don’t freak out on me,” he mumbled, eyes pleading while he chewed at his lip. Castiel made no comment, swallowing as he waited. “They’re mine, okay?” Dean forced out in a rush, and Castiel nearly choked on his own spit. “They’re mine. I like the way they… fuck,” the man grunted, turning away as the ruby-red flush spread down his neck and across his chest.

Castiel gaped, head rushing as all blood in his body raced back to his cock. “You’re kidding.”

Dean winced, eyes on the floor. “Yeah, it’s fucked up. I know.”

With a hasty shake of his head, Castiel reached his hands out for Dean and forced him to turn his head and look at him. “There is _nothing_ wrong with this, Dean. Gods, just the thought of you…” he moaned under his breath, eyes slipping shut as his mind wandered. The stark contrast between taut, tanned muscle and soft, silky satin, Dean’s thick erection straining against the delicate fabric...

“You’re not freaked out?” Dean asked with surprise in his voice, and Castiel huffed breathlessly, opening his eyes and weakly pulling himself to sit. 

“Freaked out?” he growled, pushing Dean to sit and clambering onto his lap. Dean grabbed for his hips to steady his balance, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Demanding you put them on now would be counterproductive, but believe me when I say that next time, you’re going to slide that beautiful satin up your legs and I’m going to spread you out, tasting every inch of your gorgeous body until I make you come in them. Trust me when I say that the thought has me so turned on, I’m ready to explode.”

“Shit, I thought… you’re amazing,” he gasped, allowing Castiel to tilt his head up with fingers wrapped tightly in his hair so that their lips could mash together in a flurry of tongue and teeth. 

The fingers biting into his hips loosened once Castiel had stabilized himself with arms anchored around Dean’s neck, and a single hand slid round to squeeze at his ass cheek, spreading them as the other guided his slick cock to Castiel’s abused entrance. 

“Dean,” Castiel hissed as he pushed his hips downwards, impaling himself on the thick heat and keening at the intoxicating, burning stretch. 

“Still so tight, Jesus fuck,” Dean choked, fingers clenching hard enough to bruise as he lifted Castiel’s hips, only to drop him back down with a broken moan.

They moved together in perfect, sloppy synchronization, bucking wildly into one another in pursuit of maddening pleasure. Castiel’s head dropped, cheek mashed on Dean’s freckle-kissed shoulder as he rode him, arms clinging on like the man was his only lifeline. With every downward stroke he swirled his hips, drinking in every tortured groan from Dean’s lips and sobbing when the head of his cock nailed his abused prostate.

“Look at me,” Dean demanded roughly, angling Castiel’s jaw up to catch his eye with a glazed over, feral stare. “That’s it, Cas. Fucking beautiful.”

Fingers tugged at the damp hair at Castiel’s nape, and their foreheads pressed together, overheated and dripping with sweat. Dean’s lust-hazed eyes bore into his own, radiant, and so _green._

“I… I—” Castiel heaved for breath, his hips rolling furiously to keep up with the grip of Dean’s fingers on the tender, reddening flesh of his ass. 

“Fuck yeah, angel, me too,” Dean grunted, pulling him down sharply with a violent upward thrust. “Oh god. Gonna come.”

“Yes,” Castiel whined, clawing at Dean’s back. He _wanted_ it. 

The angle allowed Dean in so deep, and Castiel was going mad with sensory overload, every sloppy, sharp thrust pushing him closer and closer to oblivion. He was slipping, faster and faster, falling deeper and deeper into the abyss, and his grasp on his self control was lost when those beautiful, wrecked eyes met his own once more with a stutter of hips, a tightening of fingers, and a final, guttural moan.

“I love you,” Castiel cried, and for a second, before the weight of the world falling around him hit, he yelled out at the utter, earth-shattering perfection of the orgasm that crashed over him in waves, pulling him under as his muscles tensed and convulsed, and his back arched violently. His eyes rolled as every inch of his body was wrung out with white-hot bursts of pleasure, his hands clasping desperately at Dean’s sweat-slicked skin.

He loved Dean, and the realization flooded through him as he was rocked by aftershocks, leaving him a molten mess in the man’s embrace. He loved Dean. And he’d just told him. 

Oh, gods. Those earth-shattering, dangerous words had bided their time, waiting for a moment of weakness before springing from Castiel’s chapped, pleasure-slackened lips. He struggled to catch his breath, cracking an eye open to meet the frozen stare of Dean before him. The man had turned to stone in his arms, gazing at him as if he’d grown another head as he fought for breath.

“I— I meant—”

“It’s okay,” Dean said with a shake of his head, no emotion in his voice as he shifted Castiel off of his lap with an inelegant squelch of lubricant and came to stand, heading straight for the bathroom. 

With shaking limbs, Castiel pulled himself to sit on the edge of the mattress, hand over his mouth as the gravity of Dean’s reaction sunk in. What had he done, fuck, _what had he done?_ He was seriously starting to worry the man would never emerge from the bathroom when the door finally cracked open and he came out with an exaggerated, plastered on smile and threw the damp cloth in his hands in Castiel’s direction. 

“Might need this,” Dean smirked, but everything about it, from the tight hunch of his shoulders the the steel hardness in his eyes, was off. “There’s jazz all the way up to your shoulder. I don’t wanna end up sleeping in it.”

Castiel glanced down at the cloth, mouth opening and closing dumbly. “Dean, what I—”

“Get the light when you’re done, yeah? I’ve got an early morning.”

“Okay,” Castiel blinked dazedly, watching as Dean climbed back into the bed, rolling over to the far edge with the tense lines of his back to Castiel. 

As if on autopilot, he perfunctorily wiped between his legs and at his stomach and chest, walking on unsteady legs to deposit the wet cloth into Dean’s washing hamper and pausing by the lightswitch. He glanced back over at Dean with stinging eyes, the man rigidly refusing to move from the position he was in, as far from the middle of the mattress as humanly possible without falling off.

With a shaking breath, he flicked off the light, and found himself stood there, buck-naked and shivering, staring blankly into the darkness as his eyes struggled to adjust. After a minute, he managed to will his limbs to cooperate, edging him towards the bed as if it was filled with venomous snakes. He crawled onto the mattress and slipped woodenly under the comforter, holding his breath for any sign that Dean would react. 

But there was none. If the silence of the room wasn’t so deafening, he would have missed the almost inaudible in-and-out of the man’s shallow breath entirely, mistaking himself for alone in the room.

Castiel stared up at the darkened ceiling, painfully aware of every inch between their bodies.

“Goodnight,” he croaked out through a bone-dry throat, heart racing in his chest. 

He couldn’t tell whether Dean had fallen asleep or not, but his words were swallowed by the silence, and that told him enough.

Gods, he’d ruined it all. He had thought… but he hadn’t been _sure._

When he awoke from his fitful sleep, made even worse from knowing the warm arms that would soothe his restlessness were only inches away, the cold sheets were all twisted around him and he was decidedly alone. He rolled over, dejection settling like a rock at the pit of his stomach when his fingers reached out to brush Dean’s side of the mattress, and it held no trace of body heat at all.

Dean always seemed to leave before he woke, he considered, numb. Maybe he should have realized sooner.

Castiel hadn’t expected Dean to run out on him this time, though. There were several occasions over the past weeks where the man had left early for work the morning after and encouraged Castiel to lay in, make himself at home, and lock up with the spare key before he left. Was that what Dean was doing now? Running off to work, as if nothing had happened?

He dragged himself to stand, gazing unseeingly at the various items of his clothing strewn across the floor. He grabbed for his underwear and pulled it on, and resolutely headed downstairs, determined that he would wait until Dean returned home from work. He could apologize, backtrack, do something to fix it. In the meantime, he might as well despair over a mug of strong black coffee.

By the time he made it halfway down the staircase however, it became abundantly clear that he wasn’t as alone in the house as he had assumed. Dean’s bright, cheerful voice rang out from the kitchen, and Castiel froze mid-step, unsure what to do. He had hoped to have more time, a chance to come up with an excuse, some kind of argument appealing to the feelings he believed Dean had had for him.

He panicked for a moment that Dean may have company, and he was lingering on the staircase in his boxers like a frazzled exhibitionist, but from the sole voice, it became obvious that he was on the phone. Castiel was about to return to Dean’s room to dress, when something the man said caught his attention, freezing him to the spot once more.

“Who, the trenchcoat guy from Harvelle’s?” Dean asked the person on the phone. “Nah, he ain’t hanging around, was just a fling. You know me, onwards and upwards.” 

Castiel felt the burning of heat rising in his face, and an involuntary hand came up to cover his mouth as he listened on. _Just a fling._

Dean snorted, and there was the distinct sound of the refrigerator snapping shut before he spoke again. “Dontcha worry about my needs, I’ve got another beauty on the go already. Blonde, yoga instructor, tan that stretches for miles. Let me keep a pair of her sexy panties as a token of her undying affection.”

Castiel’s breath caught, and his heart stopped in his chest as he silently dropped to sit on the carpeted step, legs unable to support him. 

“Swear to god, Sammy, that tantric shit is unreal. Night before last she sucked my brain right outta my—” Dean was cut off, but let out a loud chuckle. Nausea rolled over Castiel in waves, and he dug his nails sharply in the palm of his hand to keep himself quiet. “Yeah, yeah. You’re just jealous. Have you and Jess made plans for Bobby’s birthday yet?” 

Castiel stumbled to his feet, and crept up the stairs as quietly as he could, retrieving his scattered clothes and swiftly dressing, casting the discarded panties a pained look. 

How could he have been such an idiot? 

Fury burned through him, forcing his breaths out in harsh pants as he dragged his shirt up his arms and snatched his phone and keys up from where they had been dumped on the floor. How dare he? How _dare_ he hold Castiel’s hand, and bake him pie, and kiss his scraped palms, and make him feel— 

He grit his teeth as he secured the final button and headed for the stairs once more. 

Were these the lengths people went to for sex? He felt sick to his stomach, light-headed and shaky, he felt… like an idiot. A stupid, naive, infatuated idiot who was going to throw everything he’d worked for away on a stupid dream that he could be brave, self-assertive, even wanted.

Maybe Michael had been right all along when he advised Castiel to keep his head down and marry the pastor's daughter their mother had attempted to set him up with. Stupid Castiel, thinking he could have something more, that he could find someone who made his heart stop in his chest with every smile.

 _“Your sexual proclivities are irrelevant,”_ Michael had attempted to console him, a hand on Castiel’s shoulder in a mockery of comfort. _“Who wouldn’t want a stable, respectable life with a pretty girl?”_

Maybe he should have taken stability, he thought bitterly, brushing angry tears from his eyes. A voice in the back of his head reminded him that it would have been unfair on them both, he could have given nothing of himself to Daphne. The gaping void in his chest cried that, at the least, there would have been nothing from him she could have taken.

Castiel took the steps carelessly this time, exaggerating each one so that Dean would hear him approaching. He was going to march straight into the kitchen, look Dean in the eye and ask him _why._

Dean acknowledged him with a polite nod as he entered the room, and Castiel’s pulse raced under his clammy skin.

“You’re up early,” the man commented breezily as he stirred pancake mix in a large bowl, not even looking at him.

Castiel took a steadying breath and opened his mouth, blinking away the stinging in his eyes.

“I…” he began, fists clenching by his sides, but when Dean turned to him, brows raised, the fight was all but sapped from his veins. “I have a missed call from my mother. I should really get home and return it. I don’t suspect it’s an emergency, but she doesn’t usually contact me for much less.”

 _You coward._

He hated himself, but he just couldn’t do it. He needed to get as far away as possible, as fast as he could. Dean looked right at him with nothing but thinly veiled indifference, and he no longer had the willpower to fight. He just needed to leave before the burning in his waterline threatened to spill over once more.

“You’re free to use the house phone, if you wanted,” Dean shrugged, pouring the batter into the oiled frying pan. 

Castiel swallowed thickly, squaring his shoulders. “Thank you, but no. I’d better take it at home. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Right, sure,” Dean nodded, eyes fixed on the stove as he expertly flipped his pancake. “I’m not really the parent type, anyway. Wouldn’t wanna introduce the guy who eats your ass to your religious mom,” he joked, but it fell painfully flat. 

Castiel stared at his profile blankly. _The guy who eats your ass._

“Did you need a ride?” Dean asked, attention focused on the pan.

“No thank you, I’d like to walk,” Castiel said with a determination he had never been further from feeling. “Goodbye, Dean.” 

“Catch you later, Cas,” Dean called over his shoulder as he turned once more and grabbed a plate from the cupboard, not even bothering to watch as Castiel turned and walked out of the door.

He wandered home in the early morning peace, desensitized to the soft hues of the sky and the birds singing cheerfully in the blooming trees. He couldn’t have cared less.

With a grunt he slammed Gabriel’s apartment door behind him, wanting to shut out the whole damn world. He silenced his phone, shut all the blinds and curled up on the couch, spending the whole day staring into an endlessly reheated cup of coffee. By the time he came back to himself, it had already begun grow dark around him from his perch in Gabriel’s silent living room.

Gods, he should have known. No one like Dean could ever have felt that way about him, he’d been so blinded by the thrill of intimacy that he hadn’t been able to see it was nothing but a façade. He _knew_ there was a reason one night stands were called just that.

Something between his lungs ached so furiously, he had to ram his palm up against his sternum for any kind of relief. The worst pain of all came from knowing what he had to do next—he had been so naive, but he was not masochistic. The thought of continuing on as they had, letting Dean touch him, spew meaningless words that he shared with however many others, it made Castiel sick to his empty stomach.

With fumbling hands, he retrieved his phone from his pocket and, after numerous aborted attempts, ended up with a vaguely well constructed, civil message.

 _My moving date has been brought forward to friday,_ it read, in words as detached and emotionless as he felt, _so as enjoyable as these past few months have been, it would be wise to end our arrangement at this point. I wish you the best of luck in the future, Dean._

He pressed send, allowing the phone to fall to the cushions at his side. A few hours later, past the point where Castiel was sure Dean would never reply, his phone vibrated against his leg, and he unlocked it to read the new message with a heavy heart.

**Sure thing, you too**

And, apparently, that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the love and support, you guys are the best and I'm grateful for each and every one of you <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope none of you hate me too much after the previous chapter... After this we've got just two more to go :D 
> 
> Just to inform you all, as of this weekend I'm relocating from little ol' England to big ol' America. I'm doing my best to get the final two chapters finished before I move, but in case I run out of time, this is both advanced warning and apology in the event of slow updates. I'll try to make sure we're back to business as usual asap, thank you so much for sticking with me!
> 
> As always, so much love and gratitude towards causidicus and sunshinewinchesters, my cracking beta team. You two are absolutely fabulous.

The next morning found Castiel meticulously folding and packing his clothes away, taking every care to organize them in an easy-to-navigate, indexed fashion. He even took the time to begin sorting his meager belongings into piles, doing anything at all to keep himself distracted. Most of what he owned was cheap and disposable anyway, and so made its way straight to the large trash bag at the end of the bed—he had never stayed in one place long enough to warrant spending money on fancy silk sheets or an expensive electric toothbrush when most of his things were lost or damaged in transit anyway.

Castiel worked his way around the guest room, collecting up the novels he'd scattered around the room, meaning to read but never getting round to. He glanced around the newly-bare space, a sad smile tugging at his lips. He’d made himself more at home in the few months at Gabriel’s apartment than he ever had in the studio rooms he’d rented before, and so deconstructing the room he had made for himself piece by piece, packing his life away into the tatty brown boxes he had used over and over again, was more unsettling than he was expecting.

Before Castiel realized what he was doing, he found himself staring unseeingly at the cheap alarm clock in his hands, mind beginning to wander dangerously. After a deep breath, he shook himself from the momentary reverie, adding the clock to his messily labeled box of electronics. His things wouldn't sort themselves after all, and the sooner he was packed up, the sooner he could prepare to leave. With newfound determination, he moved his way through the apartment, collecting his belongings and adding them to the growing piles by the door. He still had another week until his apartment was available, but he wanted out of Lawrence now, and was wasting no time. If he had to, he'd stay in a motel.

He drifted between the living room and kitchen idly, somewhat subconsciously having left the task of tackling Gabriel’s office until last. Finally relenting after checking the kitchen cupboards for the third time, Castiel cracked open the office door, taking in the piles of paper spread across the desk with a frown. 

With a sigh, he shook out his perpetually tense shoulders and grabbing an empty box, only throwing his work a passing thought before cramming sheaves of notes inside. The thought of actually forcing himself to glance over a single article now, let alone go back to the library to spend any significant time researching, was repelling. He shoved pages and pages of annotated printouts into plastic wallets, ready to shred them all sooner than read them. He would sort through it all when he arrived at his apartment in Massachusetts and had some time to get his head straight, Castiel told himself. Because the sight of them now only made him nauseous.

Sorting through with far less efficiency than he had been before, his work was eventually all packed up, and he heaved the boxes towards the front door in preparation to be loaded. All that remained unpacked were the bare minimum essentials; a few outfits with correlating underwear and pajamas, his toiletries, and his wallet. His dead phone had been discarded in one of the junk drawers in Gabriel's office. 

Once the office was clear, Castiel continued to busy himself with other mundane jobs around the apartment, because he knew that if he stopped, heaven and hell could not get him started up again. He cleaned the kitchen and living room from top to bottom, polishing the floors and vacuuming the carpets, tidying until it looked neater than his brother had ever left it.

Upon finishing, he quickly moved on to work his way through the laundry, replacing his newly-cleaned towels in the bathroom and organizing Gabriel's linen closet while he waited for the dryer to finish the last load. When it beeped out its completion, he pulled the warm sheets into a laundry basket to fold and pack away. It wasn't until he had reached the guest room and perched on the end of the bed, pulling the basket up beside him, that he properly looked at what he was folding. He ran the tarnished linen between his fingers, his thumb brushing the almost imperceptibly darkened patches of grease stains. Another one, he grimaced. With a thick swallow, he wadded them the sheets up and threw them on top of his trash pile. 

He would buy more for his new apartment. A new start. 

Castiel went about the rest of his self-assigned chores with gusto. Before he had even finished wiping the smears from the bathroom mirror, he was planning his next task, and by the time the streetlights flickered on, the whole apartment was sparkling. He stood in the kitchen and looked around himself somewhat proudly, but he couldn’t ignore the nagging in his head, reminding him that now there was even less to keep him occupied tomorrow. In the morning, Castiel resolved, he would walk to the nearest store to replenish the refrigerator with enough food to live off for a few days. 

He hadn't felt hungry at all if he was honest, his appetite seemingly lost, but he'd managed to force down enough granola every six hours or so to keep himself going. Besides, he wanted to at least leave the cupboards stocked for his brother's return, and needed to buy a fish feeder for Gabriel's community of neon tetra. 

He was beginning to feel stifled inside the apartment, anyway. The fresh air was bound to do him some good.

Turning out the lights as he made his way to the bedroom, Castiel firmly told himself that it was about time he got some sleep. Wearily, he reached for the neat pile of pajamas he'd stacked on the dresser, determined to reach unconsciousness before the early hours of the morning, because surveying his face in the mirror showed just how deep the bags under his eyes were. With a sigh, he stripped his pants and shirt, heading for the bathroom with his pajamas to brush his teeth and wash his face in a routine so familiar, he was working on autopilot. It wasn’t until he reached for the clean T-shirt, its soft, faded cotton brushing his fingers, that he was shaken back to his senses.

Castiel stared at the offending fabric in his hands, eyes homing in on the cracked AC/DC logo as if his life were some terrible comedy. He must have instinctively grabbed for something comfortable, and picked the shirt up by mistake. That had to be it. He would never have done something so masochistic _consciously._

As he turned it over in his grip, Castiel was overcome with the desire to burn the damned thing. A bitter voice at the back of his head told him to tear it to pieces, to throw it out of the window, or go at it with a sharp pair of scissors until it was nothing but ribbons. How many others had Dean gifted clothing to, it asked, marking his territory while managing to avoid giving anything of himself? Or had that just been Castiel, the stupid, naive hermit who fell over himself at the opportunity to be shown a little affection? He glared down at the faded logo with barely fuelled hatred. 

The fierce emotion crested and petered out as quickly as it had surfaced though, and he acknowledged with a steadying breath that his reaction was childish and brash. If he couldn't bring himself to return the shirt, he could at least donate it. There was no point in destroying something that another could use on the off-chance that it would make him feel better.

He headed back into the hallway and made to throw it onto the goodwill pile, but at the last moment, the fingers clenched in the material refused to let go. Instead they curled tighter, moving of their own volition to bring the worn-down cotton up to his face for one last time. It brushed over his cheek and across his bitten lips, and before he could stop himself, he was inhaling deeply, eyes falling shut. Castiel had worn the stupid thing so often, but Dean's warm, musky scent was still there, as if infused into the very fibers of fabric, intertwined with his own and the lingering freshness of detergent. 

The ambrosial scent filled his lungs, and for a moment, Castiel found he could forget it all. For just a moment, he was back in Dean’s bed in the soft dawn light, surrounded by heady cinnamon and sandalwood and wrapped up tightly in— 

His eyes clenched at the fierce memories, invading all of his senses. Put it down, he told himself. Throw it away before you can’t let go, before it’s too late. But he knew, taking a deep breath of the painfully familiar scent, that he had been past the point of return the second he’d found it. With trembling hands he pulled the shirt over his head, luxuriating in the way the fabric hugged his skin.

He might as well wear it while it was there, he justified pointlessly to himself. It would be silly to unpack his boxed up clothes now. 

Castiel ditched the pajama pants along with the rest of his clothes in the laundry basket, clad only in the oversized T-shirt and a pair of boxers, bare feet padding across the carpet as he made his way back to the guest room. 

The perfectly made sheets of his bed greeted him, just like they always did, but he found himself scowling at them rather than being comforted by the sense of order. He had always been tidy and organized, ever since infanthood when his mother had drilled into his head just what cleanliness was supposedly next to. He had renounced many of her religious protestations over the years, but this was a hard habit to kick. The only time he had ever abandoned his hangups over neatness was when he was with Dean, too distracted by the whirlwind of new sensations to bother with pressed sheets and military corners. 

He was bone-tired and aching all over from a solid day of work, but suddenly, the large, empty bed no longer seemed so appealing. It was perfectly made, because, like Castiel, there was an image of outer refinement it was supposed to uphold. But it was all a desperate lie. Beneath the immaculately made, bright white cotton of the comforter lay sheets ingrained with the ghost stains of engine oil that just wouldn’t come out, no matter how much bleach he used.

Gods, he chuckled bleakly, he was driving himself insane. With a set to his jaw, he tore the comforter from the mattress and dragged it behind him to the darkened living room, throwing himself down on the couch and cocooning it around him. The silence, the poignant awareness of being alone, was going to suffocate him. Castiel fisted hands in his hair and tugged, desperate for a reprieve from the pounding in his skull, but it was only a momentary distraction. He tossed and turned on the narrow couch for hours, his drained muscles throbbing in protest, but try as he might, he just couldn't sleep. 

By the time the hands of the clock on the wall pointed to three, he surrendered, grabbing for the TV remote and flicking it on. Anything to split the deafening silence. 

The hours slipped away, broken only by sporadic snatches of sleep that left his back and neck aching from the uncomfortable angle. The house phone rang a few times, but he resolutely ignored it. When his stomach began to protest its emptiness he ordered takeout, leaving the couch only to use the bathroom, throw the fish some food, and answer the door, terrifying the delivery kid with his bloodshot eyes.

He was twenty episodes into _Deep Space Nine_ when the slamming of the front door shook him from the vicious cycle of nothingness. 

“Holy mother of god.” 

Castiel turned his head at the sound, blinking up at Gabriel’s disbelieving face. 

“Don’t blaspheme,” he scolded heatlessly, eyeing his brother with only a vague interest. “Why are you here?”

“Sorry, mother, but sometimes it’s kinda unavoidable,” his brother snarked, dropping his bag on the floor as he surveyed the room with raised brows. “And I do live here, in case you’ve forgotten. What the fuck happened? Were we robbed by really fucking inconsiderate burglars?” 

Castiel sighed, tempted just to turn his attention back to the television and ignore Gabriel altogether. “What do you mean?”

“ _Castiel,_ ” the man said sternly, alien concern creeping into his voice.

Castiel stared around him, eyes wandering the mess guiltily before making their way back to the Gabriel. “I… I cleaned a few days ago. The refrigerator’s empty, I got takeout.”

“How long’s it been empty, since the late nineteen-hundreds?” Gabriel scoffed, kicking a rogue box of leftover Kung Pao chicken and wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Dude, I’m the one with the bachelor pad and even _I’ve_ never seen this many Chinese cartons in one place.”

"It's not that bad," Castiel shrugged. He’d only ordered in two or three times. He’d barely eaten any of it, anyway. It seemed to settle at the pit of his empty stomach like rocks.

Gabriel ran a hand over his mouth, coming to stand in front of where Castiel sat. “Cassie…” he began cautiously. “Are you _sitting_ on a pizza box?”

Castiel shut his eyes, rubbing at his temples where he was sure a migraine was brewing. “Do you not have something better to do, Gabriel?” he sighed, pushing the comforter off of his legs. “I’m sorry for making a mess, but you know I’ll have it cleaned up again. What are you even doing here?”

“Your phone’s been off all week,” Gabriel said, as if that was explanation enough. “I was worried about you, dammit!”

“Really,” Castiel snorted dubiously, staring down at his boxer-clad lap. 

“Yes, really, you asshole,” Gabriel snapped, marching across the room and throwing open the curtains. Castiel flinched, his eyes having fully adjusted to the semi-darkness he’d been sat in for who knows how long. “When was the last time you showered?” his brother asked, looking him up and down with barely veiled horror. He shrugged, and Gabriel threw his hands up in exasperation. “Jesus Christ, Castiel. Get in the bathroom and wash off the dead-man-walking smell while I clean up in here.”

“You don’t have to,” Castiel tried, but Gabriel cut him off with a look. 

“I know,” his brother said, shaking his head. “Go before your clothes crawl off your body and beat you there.”

Castiel nodded solemnly and obeyed, heading for the bathroom, stripping off and jumping into the shower before it had the chance to even warm up, terrified of catching sight of himself in the mirror. He washed swiftly but thoroughly, feeling life gradually flowing back into him as the temperature increased and he scrubbed until his skin glowed.

Reluctantly, he left the steamy sanctuary of the bathroom wrapped only in a towel. Gabriel was waiting right outside the door with a clean pair of pants, a shirt, and underwear, and handed them to him with a guarded look. “I see you’ve packed.”

Castiel exhaled silently, his lips a tight line as he took the clothes and pulled them onto his still-damp skin. “I was going to call you.”

“Were you?” Gabriel asked, hands on his hips. “Looks more like you were gonna do a runner. Or bind yourself symbiotically to the living room, whichever happened first.”

Guilt flowed through Castiel like a raging river, and he averted his eyes, unable to handle the hurt painted plainly across Gabriel’s face. 

“Look, come sit down,” his brother sighed, and Castiel nodded, turning for the living room. Gabriel caught his arm. “No, not in there, get in the kitchen so I can force some incredibly strong coffee down your throat and knock some sense into you. I fear my couch is already molded to the shape of your ass.”

He followed Gabriel to the breakfast bar, shunting himself up on a stool while Gabriel pushed a mug of black coffee towards him. He wrapped his fingers around it, taking a deep breath of the bitter scent that wafted from the cup. Gabriel watched him assessingly, coming to sit on the other side of the bar and take a sip of his own drink before speaking.

“What’s going on, Cassie?” he asked, a softness to his voice that had Castiel biting his tortured lip once more. “A couch potato binge is my style, not yours. Please bro. I joke, but I’m genuinely worried.”

Castiel swallowed thickly, eyes fixed on his coffee as he fought for words. “I fucked up, Gabe.”

From the corner of his eye he watched Gabriel flinch, as if the profanity hurt him. “What are you talking about?”

“The job at KU,” Castiel clarified, his voice a faint rasp as he met Gabriel’s eye. “It was a stupid idea, a crazy pipe dream. I’ve come to my senses.”

“Have you?” Gabriel stared at him dubiously, leaning his elbows on the bar. “They don’t sound much like your senses."

Castiel sniffed, shrugging his shoulders weakly and taking a large mouthful of the scalding liquid. Facing up to the elephant in the room was inevitable; Gabriel had an uncanny knack for wringing every last secret from him. It was only a matter of time.  
“Castiel, you were so damn happy when I last heard from you,” Gabriel frowned, and Castiel’s gaze fell as his vision threatened to blur. “Talk to me, kid.”

He opened his mouth, closing it again when he found that he couldn’t. He had no idea what to say. ‘The man I thought I was in love with was using me for sex, so I’ve decided to get as far away from Kansas as I can’? Gods, it sounded pathetic even in his own head. Lost for words, Castiel looked up at his brother with a shake of his head, unable to disguise the raw hurt in his eyes.

Gabriel blinked at him for a moment, and then his face dropped. “Aw shit. I’m gonna have to break someone’s legs, aren’t I?”

“I’d rather you avoided the prison time,” Castiel chuckled humorlessly, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand in precaution. 

Gabriel just stared on as if he hadn’t spoken, understanding in his eyes. “What happened?”

“Please leave it,” Castiel murmured, taking another long sip of coffee.

“I wish I could, but as your big brother, it’s my birthright to do the exact opposite,” Gabriel said, shaking his head. “The someone you met, right?”

“It’s over.”

Gabriel frowned. “Yeah? It seemed pretty serious.”

“I was under the impression that it was more than what it was,” Castiel said, trying to eradicate the waver in his voice. Gabriel raised his eyebrows in question, but when Castiel continued this time, he couldn’t stop his voice from cracking. “I was sat half naked in his hallway listening as he gloated over the phone about the yoga instructor he'd slept with two nights earlier.”

“You’re kidding,” Gabriel declared, mouth hanging open in disbelief. Castiel ran a hand over his eyes, shaking his head. “Where does the bastard live? Forget his legs, I’m gonna go tear his ass out through his throat,” his brother snarled.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Castiel sniffed, looking up to flash his brother a weak smile, “you struggle to even open jars.”

“Yeah, pickles don’t often make my baby brother cry,” Gabriel snapped, white-knuckling his mug. “You didn’t deserve that, Cassie. No matter what you’re telling yourself.”

“Be that as it may,” Castiel inhaled deeply, squaring his shoulders, “it’s given me a clear perspective. I just… I need to get away for a while. I’ve confirmed my joining details with the Harvard admissions, they can have an apartment ready for me by the weekend.”

Gabriel pursed his lips. “And you’re sure about this?”

“As sure as I am about anything anymore,” Castiel nodded, finishing the dregs of his coffee for something to keep his hands occupied.

“Okay,” his brother said, and Castiel lifted his head in incredulity.

“Okay? You don’t have anything more to say?”

“Nope,” Gabriel shrugged, popping the P. “I have faith in you, kid. I said you had my support, and that wasn’t a conditional offer.”

Castiel blinked across at him, his brother’s words surprisingly moving. “I… thank you.” 

Gabriel cracked a smile, rolling his shoulders as the confident persona returned. “So, when you leaving?”

“I was aiming for tomorrow,” Castiel admitted, abashed, but Gabriel seemed unaffected by the information.

“Uhuh. And where’s your car?” he asked, smirking.

“Oh,” Castiel faltered. He had been so distracted that he hadn’t even thought about it. “The garage,” he responded, tempering his voice.

Gabriel frowned, clearing away their mugs. “You still don’t have it back? I thought it was a quick fix?”

“I haven’t thought to chase,” Castiel hummed, unsure what else to say. He hadn’t had much need for his car over the past few weeks—anywhere he needed to go, he was driven to by Dean. 

“Right,” Gabriel said, throwing him a knowing look that made him bite the inside of his cheek awkwardly. “You better get on that then, I can drop you at the garage and head to the store for some real send-off food. Hopefully I’ll meet you back home before you’ve developed scurvy, if it's not already too late.”

“Okay,” Castiel said, hesitantly reaching for the house phone as Gabriel left the room. He dialed the garage’s number at a digit a minute, praying to a god he’d long since lost faith in that the voice that answered would be an unfamiliar one.

There were only two rings before the call picked up, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest.

“Singer Auto, you’ve reached Her Royal Highness, Queen Charlie. What can I do for ya?” a cheery female voice answered, and Castiel nearly cried with relief.

“Uh, hello,” Castiel said, clearing his throat. “My car has been with you for a while now, and I’m calling to find out whether it’s ready to collect.”

“Sure thing,” she hummed, “what’s the name?” 

“Novak,” he said, drumming his fingers on the counter.

“Aha, Continental?” she said, her grin clear down the phone. “Yep, you’re good to go. Coming in to pick her up, or are you going to need a ride?”

“No, thank you. I can collect this afternoon if that’s alright.”

“Awesome,” Charlie said. “See you then.” 

Castiel hung up the phone with a heavy ache in the pit of his stomach. Gods, if Dean was there… He shook the thought from his head. If he even humored the idea, he’d never be able to force himself into Gabriel’s car.

He spent the entire journey into town chewing on his lip, hands wringing in his lap as Gabriel sang along to the radio beside him. 

“You okay, Cassie?” his brother asked, gazing at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Fine,” Castiel answered tightly as Gabriel pulled up outside the garage. His heart was hammering against his ribcage, palms sweating as the car rolled to a stop. “Thank you for driving me.”

“No problem,” Gabriel said, assessing him with a look as Castiel climbed out of the car with a plastic bag in tow, weighing him down with every step. “See you later.”

He nodded idly, gaze scanning the garage. There was no sign of the man, and he hoped and prayed that it would stay that way. He just needed to get in, get his car, and get out. With a steadying breath, he stepped through the open shutters, walking swiftly towards the jumpsuit-clad redhead whose fingers were flying cross the keyboard of the computer on the desk.

“Hey there, how can I help?” she asked him. Her voice was familiar enough for him to identify her as the person whom he had spoken to earlier, though he couldn’t remember what she had introduced herself as past _Her Royal Highness._

“I believe we spoke this morning, I’ve come to collect my car. Novak?”

The woman blinked owlishly at him, the frantic movement of her fingers slowing as she assessed him. “You’re Lincoln?” 

“No, I’m Castiel,” he frowned in confusion at her words. 

She rolled her eyes, lips stretching into a fond smile. “You _own_ the Lincoln.”

“I… Yes, I do,” he nodded, trying not to chew through his lip. Gods, he just wanted to pay for his car and leave. If Dean appeared, he had no idea what he would do.

“Damn, you’re one lucky son of a gun,” the woman whistled lowly, leaning casually at the desk. “Never thought I’d say this about a grandpa car, but she’s looking b-e-a- _utiful._ ” 

Castiel’s frowned deepened. “Oh. Thank you?” 

“Deano’s been working his ass off all week trying to get it all done,” the woman tutted, a smile in her eyes. “You just missed him actually, Bobby had to drag him home or he’d never have left. You know what he’s like. Pretty sure he worked through the night finishing her up.”

Castiel froze, the need to breathe temporarily forgotten as he struggled to make sense of her words. “Are you sure you have the right person?” he managed to ask, in a voice sounding nothing like his own.

“We don’t get many cars like yours in here to be confused, dude,” the redhead laughed. “The old Mark V Continental, engine restoration and full refurb?” 

“No, I think you must be mistaken,” Castiel exhaled heavily, shaking his head. Of course she was. For a second... “The engine overheated, but it was a simple issue,” he continued. “I was just waiting for a replacement part.” 

“You are Castiel Novak, aren’t you?” the woman asked with a raised brow, turning to the computer on her desk and scrolling. 

“Your engine was shot to high hell, needed a damn sight more than a part. Dean all but gutted the thing, he’s been working on her for months. Must be gone over you, bud.”

The nervous twitching of Castiel’s hands stopped dead at his sides and he swallowed thickly, heat rising in his cheeks as he fought to force out words. “And... it’s ready now?” he rasped, fists clenching and unclenching.

“Yep, sweeter than she’d have been right off the production line,” she grinned, folding her oil-splattered arms on the desk. “All fixed up by the time you needed her. Where y’off to again? Dean told me, but I can’t remember.” 

“Massachusetts,” he croaked out, though wasn’t sure he’d made the conscious decision to speak.

“Ah yeah, fancy!” she called out as she made her way out back, entirely oblivious to the tornado tearing holes inside Castiel’s head.

He blinked unseeingly at the retro car decor adorning the exposed brick walls, eyes fixed on a vintage bumper plate hanging above the office door as the woman called to someone out back to bring his car around.

Gone over him, she had said, but how wrong she was. What had Dean acted out of, a twisted sense of guilt? Doubt clawed at his stomach like a trapped cat as he stood, dead on his feet.

“You’re all ready to go out front,” a reedy man grinned at him as he strolled in through the main doors, tossing Castiel the keys.

“Thank you,” Castiel responded, blinking down at the keys in his hand as if he'd never seen them before.

“So how long you gone for?” the woman asked, hopping up to sit on the edge of the desk as if their conversation had never halted.

The words shook Castiel from his reverie, and he pocketed the keys stiffly, grabbing the plastic bag he had deposited at his feet and handing it over, the woman taking it with raised brows. “It’s a permanent relocation. Please return these to him for me, if it's not too much trouble.”

She peered inside, pulling out Dean’s T-shirt with a moderated look, her eyes tightening as she dropped it back in with the rest of his clothes that Castiel had accumulated over the months.

“Oh. Sure,” was all she said, and the words hung awkwardly in the air. 

“How much do I owe you?” Castiel said tightly as he shifted on his feet, pulling his wallet from his back pocket with a barely restrained shake to his hands. He just wanted to get away. He couldn’t take another second of that pitying, sympathetic look. “I had no idea this much work was required, I may have to pay in instalments.”

“There’s no charge, dude,” the woman smiled wanly, and the skinny guy behind her nodded at him in agreement. “Your money’s no good here.” 

Castiel’s brows furrowed, unsure of what she meant. “I—I can’t give you _nothing._ Labor aside, parts alone must have—” 

“Forget it,” she interrupted, holding her hands up to cut him off. “He won’t take it. Good luck, Castiel.”

Castiel wanted to protest, but the woman hopped off of the desk with a brief farewell, wandering outside beside the other man and cutting off any further argument. He followed them to the front, doing a double take at the sight of his car parked by the entrance. Mouth hanging open, he walked over to it, circling round to the bumper in disbelief.

The large dent that had decorated the car’s wing for as long as he had owned it was no more, having been hammered out and perfectly lacquered, no evidence that it, or any of the equally prevalent paint chips or rust marks had ever been there. The chrome shone in the warm afternoon sun, and he stared at himself, haggard hair and dark purple bags, in the reflection of the glossy wax. 

Dumbly, he unlocked the car and climbed inside. He nearly chewed through his lip at the absence of the commonplace sound of his engine begrudgingly sputtering to life, replaced by a deep, sonorous purr. Even the interior had been reconditioned, and the upholstery of the seats was baby-soft beneath his fingers. He stared at the cream leather under his hand, but was pulled from his chaotic thoughts with a start when a loud ping! rang out through the car. He flinched at the sound, eyes darting to the newly installed panel of his dash, where a small seat belt symbol was flashing in time with the beep of the alarm. Blinking, he reached for his seat belt and pulled it across him, the alarm and warning light disappearing as he plugged it in. 

Dean had installed a seat belt alarm in his car, Castiel realized belatedly. _No amount of stressing’s worth your safety,_ he had said.

He swallowed dryly, fingers curling around the wheel. The redheaded woman had been right, it was beautiful. Dean had clearly put countless hours of work into renovating it, maybe—but, as they had over and over in the past few days, the scarlet underwear flashed to the forefront of his mind, and he pulled the car into gear with a self-deprecating scowl. He was eagerly trying to see what he wanted to, desperate to believe that despite it all, Dean had really cared. But that wasn’t the case. It was just a fling.

He pulled out onto the road, determined to get home as soon as he could, but uncertainty plagued him the entire way back. The car drove perfectly, the ride smoother than he had ever known it, despite his jerky driving. He caught himself pulling in beside Gabriel’s Camaro with a creeping sense of pride that he’d never felt before. He loved his car—it had been the first thing he'd purchased for himself upon moving away from his family and he'd been driving it for years, but he’d always been well aware that it was nothing to shout about. 

Gabriel was unloading his own car and heading for the apartment when Castiel rolled to a stop, and his brother turned to him with wide eyes as he climbed out to help with the groceries. 

“Hot damn, how much did _that_ cost you?” Gabriel asked, turning back to kick the brand new tires with the toe of his shoe.

Castiel gave a small smile, hand gliding over the lacquered roof as he locked the car. “It does look good, doesn’t it?” 

Gabriel catcalled, smirking as he passed Castiel a paper bag to carry. “Though I hate to admit it. Want help loading up after we've taken the food in? It’d be nice to walk in the front door and not trip over fifty different editions of the Bible.”

“Sorry,” Castiel chuckled, his spirits lifted by his brother’s good-humored glare. 

Together they quickly packed the majority of Castiel’s belongings into the trunk and back seats of his car. Castiel was more than aware that his brother was working tirelessly to keep the atmosphere light and easy, but he was grateful all the same. By the early evening, the hallway and guest room were both clear, save for Castiel’s overnight duffle, and he was ready to leave. 

Between them they cooked a hearty dinner, spreading their food across the breakfast bar, and Castiel felt the dark cloud that had been smothering him for days begin to dissipate as Gabriel filled the silence with nefarious tales from his time in Los Angeles.

“I’ll miss your ridiculous stories, Gabriel,” Castiel laughed, wiping his eyes as his brother stacked their plates.

“I know, they’re fantastically entertaining,” he beamed, loading the dishwasher. Castiel followed behind him, but Gabriel shook his head. “Nah, I’ve got this. You go get an early night, gotta be up at a godawful hour.”

Castiel nodded, throwing his brother a grateful smile. “Will you be awake?”

“At five in the morning? Fuck no,” Gabriel grimaced. “I’ll never forgive you if you don’t wake me up though.” 

“Got it,” Castiel laughed, heading to the guest room and shutting the door behind him. 

The morning came all too soon, and he woke far before his alarm, sneaking around the apartment to collect the last of his belongings without waking Gabriel too early. By the time his things were gathered by the door, his brother was padding out of his bedroom with a yawn, high-tailing it towards the coffee maker.

“You heading out, then?” Gabriel asked, leaning up against the door frame with a somber expression as he hugged his coffee to his chest. 

“It’s a long drive,” Castiel smiled sadly, shifting the strap of his duffle bag on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Gabriel grunted, still groggy from sleep. “Still don’t get why you won’t just fly. I could get your stuff shipped out to meet you there, you know I know people.”

Castiel smirked. “I do, Gabriel. But I enjoy it.” 

“Fair enough,” Gabriel rolled his eyes, his bathrobe hanging low on his shoulders. “You doing it all in one?”

“No, I’ll stop at a motel halfway. Somewhere in Ohio I guess, depending on how the journey goes today.”

Gabriel nodded, stifling another yawn. “You’ll call me when you get there, right? Y’know, just so I can be sure you haven’t been abducted by crazy Midwesterners and traded for livestock.” 

Castiel chuckled, lips stretching into a small grin. “Of course.”

“And you’ll look after yourself, too,” Gabriel ordered, poorly masked sadness in his eyes. “I wish I could, but I can’t always be there to back you up.” 

“You know I will,” Castiel told him, a heavy feeling settling in his stomach. He had hoped to leave before Gabriel had returned, to sneak away without hurting his brother. 

Gabriel sniffed, his nose twitching. “I’m real proud of you, you know,” he said, reaching out to pull Castiel into a tight hug. “Whatever you do, wherever you end up.”

“Thank you, Gabriel,” Castiel murmured into his brother’s shoulder. “It means a lot to hear that.”

Gabriel’s arms tightened momentarily to squeeze his shoulders, before letting go and pulling away, building his bravado once more. “Go on, then,” he nodded. “Off you pop. Knock ‘em dead, Plato.” 

“Plato was a philosopher, Gabe,” Castiel corrected, smiling indulgently. 

“Same thing, right?” 

“Close enough,” Castiel fondly agreed, throwing a wave behind him as he headed out and descended the stairs.

He climbed into his tightly packed car, starting the ignition. His eyes fixed on the street as the engine idled, chest tightening as he realized that still, even now, something in him was hoping that Dean would come running to stop him. Gods, he was pitiful. The road was silent this early in the morning, barely any signs of life at all. No children playing in gardens, no rushing commuters, definitely no roaring black muscle car.

Shaking his head, he threw the car into gear and pulled away. If his eyes lingered in the rearview mirror for a second too long as he crossed the town limits, Lawrence quickly disappearing in the distance, then it was purely out of sentimentality.

Castiel cranked the radio up as he hit the highway, blasting it loudly enough that he didn’t have to sit alone with his thoughts. The drive passed quickly, his body working with perfect muscle memory after the months without a car—he only stopped once to buy some lunch and use the bathroom before he was itching to be back on the road. He crossed the Indiana-Ohio border in good time, and the sun was just setting low in the darkened sky when he reached Columbus and decided to stop for the night before the skies relented and he was forced to drive through it.

He booked a cheap double in the first big-chain motel he came across, grabbing his overnight duffle from his car and making his way across the parking lot to the front door of his room, frowning up at the ominous dark clouds obstructing the final fleeting rays of daylight. The air was thick and heavy around him, and he managed to duck inside just as he felt the first few drops of rain hit his face. Dropping his bag on the bed with a sigh, he crossed the room to the phone resting on the nightstand, determined to make good on his promise to Gabriel before he crashed for the night.

Gabriel changed cell phones so often that he never bothered to learn their numbers, but his brother’s house number was ingrained in his memory. He dialed the familiar digits, and a chirpy voice answered by the end of the first ring.

“It’s me,” Castiel said, perching on the edge of the bed.

“Cassie,” Gabriel exhaled down the phone. “They’re not bartering for you, are they? Don’t let yourself go for any less than three cows and a bull. You’re worth it.”

Castiel snorted, falling onto his back across the mattress with the phone’s cord stretched awkwardly against his chest. “No, I’m not being sold into the cattle black market. Thank you for the incredibly convoluted compliment though.”

“Anytime, bro,” Gabriel snickered. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m just letting you know that I arrived at the motel.”

“Good to hear,” his brother said lightly. “Drive okay?”

Castiel hummed, rubbing at his temple with his free hand. He’d had the niggling starts of a headache right behind his eyes for hours. “Minor traffic in places, but the roads were mostly clear so I made pretty good time.”

“Awesome. Where d’ya end up?”

“At a Super 8 in Columbus,” he answered, balancing the phone by his face and beginning unbuttoning his shirt in the low light. “My room is an incredibly garish shade of tangerine.” 

“Ooh, bunking in style I see,” his brother laughed, and Castiel smiled along as he shucked his shirt and reached blindly for his bag. “Why you calling from the motel, where’s your phone?” Gabriel asked, and Castiel’s smile dropped.

“I left it behind,” he admitted reluctantly, reaching over to retrieve his pajamas. “I just… I need some time to get away from it all, clear my head. I’ll buy a new one.”

“Castiel,” Gabriel said sadly, and Castiel frowned guiltily. 

“No, I’m okay,” he reassured his brother, running a hand through his hair. “Really. I just...”

“Alright, alright,” Gabriel sighed. “You swear you’ll call me sometime, yeah? I need to know the numbers for Christmas.”

Castiel huffed out a laugh. “I swear. Thank you for everything, Gabe.” 

“My pleasure, little bro. You know you’ll always have a home here.” 

Castiel smiled, nodding to himself. “I will speak to you soon,” he promised, and after their goodbyes, hung up the phone. Of everything he had realized since his stay in Lawrence, just how much his brother meant to him was one of the most hard-hitting. 

The weak pattering of rain against the window brought him back, and Castiel came to stand, flicking on the light and pulling the curtains shut. His body ached from the long hours cooped up in his car and he was starting to fight the drooping of his eyelids, so he grabbed his things and began to prepare for bed. He stripped out of his trousers, pulled his pajamas on—a safe pinstripe two-piece set—and brushed his teeth before switching out the lights and climbing under the stiff sheets.

He was so drained that sleep found him rather easily, but it was shallow and restless. As the hours passed, the rainfall picked up from a light shower to a full-blown storm, and he was jolted awake with a start at the sudden crash of thunder outside. Groggily, he sat up in the bed, listening to the screaming wind and rain as it beat at the window. Milliseconds of bright light filled the room, followed closely by thunder that rolled in loud and deep, and he frowned as he wrapped the blankets closer around himself, shuffling over to peek out through a crack in the curtains. A flash of lightning illuminated the flooded parking lot outside, torrents of water pounding the asphalt as the storm raged. 

Castiel yawned, dropping the curtain to return to bed when he heard it, the sound that had been drowned out by the violent thunderclaps coming in thick and fast. 

_Someone was banging on the door._

He froze, holding his breath as he listened to the white noise of rainfall, but there it was again, unmistakable this time. For a moment, panic flooded through him and he inched back towards the window, trying to get a glimpse at who was outside, but it was impossible to see. He released the curtain once more with an audible gulp, hesitantly creeping towards the door. The noise had stopped, swallowed once again by the pounding of the rain outside. He hovered by the entrance, eyeing the locks with fingers twitching nervously, and nearly jumped out of his skin when the hammering started up once again.

His hand reached out for the door, hesitating on the lock. Everything in his body wanted to retreat, to get back in the bed and stay there until morning, but he scolded himself for the cowardice, steeling himself to slide across the deadbolt. The knocking was insistent, desperate. For all he knew, it might be an emergency. 

Squaring his shoulders, he gripped the handle tightly and pulled open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't thank you all enough, each and every one of you are brilliant and your support means the world. Thank you, thank you, thank you - hope to see you again really soon! <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm still alive! Thanks so much to all of you for your kind comments, everything has been manic over the last month or so but I'm finally back in business. With an absolutely gigantic chapter to make up for it, too ;) 
> 
> I can never thank causidicus and sunshinewinchesters enough for all their beta work and support, you two are awesome <3 
> 
> Without further ado, let's see if I was up to the task of redeeming our poor, emotionally-repressed hunter.
> 
>  
> 
> *****Last time*****
> 
> Castiel yawned, dropping the curtain to return to bed when he heard it, the sound that had been drowned out by the violent thunderclaps coming in fast and thick. 
> 
> Someone was banging on the door. 
> 
> He froze, holding his breath as he listened to the white noise of rainfall, but there it was again, unmistakable this time. For a moment, panic flooded through him and he inched back towards the window, trying to get a glimpse at who was outside, but it was impossible to see. He released the curtain once more with an audible gulp, hesitantly creeping towards the door. The noise had stopped, swallowed once again by the pounding of the rain outside. He hovered by the entrance, eyeing the locks with fingers twitching nervously, and nearly jumped out of his skin when the hammering started up once again.
> 
> His hand reached out for the door, hesitating on the lock. Everything in his body wanted to retreat, to get back in the bed and stay there until morning, but he scolded himself for the cowardice, steeling himself to slide across the deadbolt. The knocking was insistent, desperate. For all he knew, it might be an emergency. 
> 
> Squaring his shoulders, he gripped the handle tightly and pulled open the door.
> 
> *******

Dean _hurt_. The mid-afternoon sun burned his eyes, dazzling him through the windshield. His head throbbed like he’d been run down by a semi. After a twenty-two hour shift at the garage, his muscles protested every movement he made. The unforgiving couch he’d conked out on for several nights in a row hadn’t helped much either, leaving him with a crick in his neck and a burning back. 

He just felt… empty. Like someone had syphoned off his gas while he wasn’t looking. Fuck, he didn't even really know what he was doing. The journey to Colt Drive dragged on for hours, but passed in a blur, one of Dean’s hands white-knuckling the steering wheel, the other buried in the trenchcoat piled on the bench beside him. Castiel had left the stupid thing at his place when he’d… 

Dean grit his teeth sharply, snatching his hand away from the tan gabardine and winding it around the wheel along with his other. Part of him wanted to keep the piece of shit. He sighed, shaking his pounding head as he turned onto Gabriel’s street. He knew what he had to do, no matter how much he just wanted to head back to the house and drink himself to sweet oblivion in the living room.

The sight of the empty lot in front of the apartment made his heart tighten in his chest. Charlie told him earlier that Castiel had already picked up his car, had he already— 

Baby rolled to a stop at the edge of the road, and Dean listened to the idling engine for a while before cutting the gas. He stared up at the apartment with a dry throat, and it took embarrassingly long for him to muster up the courage to even pull himself from the car, trenchcoat in tow. He hesitated by the intercom for a second before chickening out, and waiting around a few minutes before slipping in after a guy heading outside for a smoke.

God, when had he become such a fucking coward?

His stomach rolled as he climbed the stairs, but he bit hard on the inside of his cheek and swallowed back the bile, vigilantly ignoring the urge to puke up his empty guts. Turned out a handle of Johnnie Walker over three days didn’t agree with his liver the way it had when he was in his teens.

With an impending sense of doom, he stood outside the apartment’s front door, eyeing the shiny numbers below the peephole. Castiel had probably already left, he told himself, the car was gone. He was too late. Or, he considered, with shaking hands as he rapped on the lacquered wood, he was wrong and Castiel would be the one to answer. Dean wasn’t sure which terrified him more.

After a few seconds of holding his breath, the door swung open. He grunted, equal parts disappointment and pathetic relief flooding him as he eyed up the man in the door. 

He vaguely remembered him as Castiel's brother from that night back at the Roadhouse so long ago. The man gazed back at Dean with raised brows, crossing his arms as he assessed him. “Whatever weird baking soda coke you’re selling, I ain’t buying,” the man snarked, looking him up and down. 

“I’m not selling anything,” he frowned, staring back unapologetically. The guy was pint-sized, top of his head barely reaching Dean’s nose—hardly resembling his younger brother at all.

“Yeah, not with that attitude,” Gabriel snorted. “Whaddaya want?”

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked, running out of patience and finding himself leaning in attempts to look past the tiny guy. He already knew the answer. Castiel was gone. 

“This is my apartment,” Gabriel enunciated, as if he were some kind of dumbass. “I live here. What are _you_ doing here?”

Dean scowled at him, running a hand through his nasty hair and holding the trench coat tightly in his other. “Where is he?”

“Who?” Gabriel asked, uncooperating as he stared Dean down. 

“You know _who_ ,” Dean snapped. His body ached, his head pounded, the party in his stomach was getting shut down any minute—he was just too damn tired for this shit. “Where’s Cas?”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, and he pushed away from the doorframe he was leaning on, taking a step into Dean’s space. “What’s it to you?”

Dean blinked, fingers flexing in the fabric of the trench. Clearly Gabriel knew, then. What _was_ it to him? “I just… I want to give him his coat,” he answered lamely, holding it up.

“Aren’t you just a model citizen,” Gabriel sneered, reaching out for it. “You can just go ahead and give that to me.”

“No,” Dean shook his head, defensively snatching the coat away from the man’s grip. “I need to give it to him.”

“Yeah? And why would that be?” Gabriel glared, taking another step forward until they were so close, Dean’s stomach rolled at the smell of his aftershave.

He growled under his breath, refusing to yield and back away. “Does it fucking matter? I want to see him, damnit!”

“I knew I recognized you from somewhere. Who’da thought, Cassie fell for James Dean and his phallus-mobile.” Gabriel huffed in disbelief, shaking his head. “You know, I’m usually a pretty laid back guy. I enjoy the simple things in life; tall, fruity drinks and firm Thai massage from beautiful women. I’m so fucking zen, I’m practically Buddha, and that’s the only thing stopping me from tearing off your nads and _force-feeding them to you._ Don’t think I don’t know what you did, you piece of shit.” 

“Hah,” Dean snorted humorlessly, gritting his teeth against the throb in his temples. “Cute and all, but I really don’t have time for the overprotective big brother spiel right now. Especially not from a hamster in a hairpiece.”

“Oh, ha ha. You think you’re funny?” Gabriel asked, his voice dropping dangerously. “Castiel’s strong as a pack mule, the poor kid had to be. Finding him the way you spat him out? I’ve _never_ seen him like that, never been so fucking terrified in my life, and I grew up pansexual with Old Testament parents.” Dean’s uneasy stomach dropped at the words, and he struggled to swallow back the bile climbing back up his throat as Gabriel continued. “I’m a comedy genius, trust me, I know funny. Speaking right to your baby brother’s face and knowing there’s nothing staring back at you but an empty fucking husk ain’t it.”

Dean’s blood ran cold, and he had to look away, couldn’t take the accusatory blame on Gabriel’s face and knowing he fucking deserved it. “I— shit. Is he... okay?” he rasped, not even wanting to know the answer. 

Of course he’s not, you son of a bitch, he snarled to himself. You saw his face.

“I can’t believe you think you have the right to even ask,” Gabriel growled, and Dean flinched away, because hell if he wasn’t right. “Now fuck off out of my face before I call the police. You can keep the coat; I always hated it anyways.”

Gabriel stepped back, going to slam the door in his face but driven by a surge of desperation, Dean was faster, jamming his foot in the way. “Please,” he tried, barely wincing at the burning throb of the wood crushing his boot. “I called his phone a hundred times. _Please._ I need to know where he is.”

“He ditched his cell here,” Gabriel shrugged, gaze unflinching. “I know where he’s staying tonight, but after that? I got as much as you. Just trusting the gut feeling that he’ll get his head right eventually, and call me when he does.”

Dean let out a distressed grunt, tugging at his hair. “I can’t wait that long.”

“Who says you have anything to wait for?” Gabriel said, baring his teeth. “You burned all your bridges, dickbag, and I’m happy to sit by and watch you drown. He was gonna stay. You _broke_ him.”

“I’m not—I know, okay?” Dean stumbled, Gabriel’s words tearing the bottom out of his precariously balanced world. “I know. I just need to see him. To… to give him the coat. After that, I swear you’ll never hear from me again.” 

“Were you dropped on your head a lot as a kid?” Gabriel stared at him like he’d sprouted wings and started flying. “You’re fucking priceless. He’s my baby brother, and I don’t know if that means anything to you, but it means a hell of a lot to me. I’d have your body parts in my garbage disposal before I sit by and let you wreck him again.” 

Dean clenched his eyes tightly, fists shaking at his sides. Yeah, it did mean something to him. If anyone had even considered hurting Sammy the way he’d… “Please, Gabriel,” he cut his own thoughts off to beg, voice breaking. “I can’t let him go like this. Without it,” he amended quickly. “Please.”

He had to talk to Cas. Had to give him the coat, had to… to try to explain. God, he could never live with himself if he didn’t. If Castiel slammed the door in his face, took a well-aimed kick to Dean’s balls and told him to never come back, then so be it. He deserved it.

Gabriel gave him an assessing look as Dean sniffed, blinking violently at the stinging in his eyes. “He’s already in Ohio. What’s the point in telling you?”

“Ohio,” Dean grunted to himself. He knew the Midwest, he could make the five-hundred miles, easy. “Where?”

Gabriel raised his brows skeptically. “You’re going? It’s a ten hour drive, douchecanoe, you’re not gonna make it. That ain’t even me being belligerent, that’s just stating fact.” 

“I will,” Dean dismissed, pushing up his sleeve to check his watch. Seven forty-two. He had time. “If I’ve gotta break the limit through every bumfuck town from here to Ohio to get to him then I’ll do it. Now _tell me_.”

There was a moment where he was sure he was gonna be leaving empty handed, but the glare on Gabriel’s face wavered, and his lips curled into a teasing smirk. “Better,” he said, and Dean stared at him in confusion. “He’s at a Super 8 in Columbus. Chop chop, gotta return that coat after all.”

“You’re just… giving in?” Dean asked, croaking voice laced with disbelief. “What happened to body parts in your garbage disposal?” 

“God, I wasn’t being serious,” Gabriel shook his head, slouching back against the door with a breezy grin on his face now. “Can you imagine the mess? There ain’t a plumber in the whole state who’d unblock that for me.”

Dean blinked at the man, unable to process his quickfire change in demeanor. “Right. Super 8. Oka—” 

He only just caught the sight of his incoming fist before his head was snapping backwards at the impact of knuckles against his face. With a grunt he was sent reeling into the wall behind him, grasping at his screaming jaw and wiping away the blood from his newly-split lip.

“What the fuck, man?” Dean spat as the world span, a starburst of light exploding behind his eyes. “You said you were zen!”

“Yeah well,” Gabriel shrugged with an easy smirk as Dean angrily probed the wound his teeth had made with his tongue, “I said I was Buddha, not a fucking saint. Gosh darn did I wanna hit you right in your pretty boy face.” 

Dean glared, swallowing down a mouthful of saliva and blood. “You’re a few sandwiches short of a picnic, pal.” 

The man tipped his head back to laugh, heading back inside the apartment. “And I’m not even the one trying to cross the country before sunrise.”

Cas. Columbus, Ohio. 

The ground beneath him was still spinning, but he reached out a hand to stop the man, the hardness of his face softening. “Thank you, Gabriel,” he rasped. 

Gabriel cracked a small smile, before rolling his eyes. “Get outta here. You’re making my porch look untidy.”

Dean nodded eagerly, tightly shutting his eyes at the onslaught of swimming disorientation it brought before turning to take the stairs two at a time, back out to the parking lot. Columbus. Dean could make it. He dived into Baby despite the protest in his head, shoving the keys into the ignition and throwing her into gear. He had no idea what the fuck he was gonna say when he got there, but if Castiel disappeared before Dean could at least explain... 

He couldn’t go on living with the flashbacks of his damn heartbroken face. He couldn’t do it. 

It was nearing three a.m. when he crossed the Ohio border, red-rimmed eyes burning from days of exhaustion. Every inch of his body was screaming at him to stop, but he wouldn’t. Not until he found Cas. It should have been a good half-day drive, but Dean made it in under eight hours. He couldn’t even bring himself to care that he was gonna get home to a mailbox full of speeding tickets. 

The wipers beat viciously at the windshield, fighting to clear the heavy rainfall from his vision—he swore it had been pouring ever since he’d joined the I-70. Water bounced off of the tarmac, lit poorly by Baby’s struggling headlights as he drove, gas to the floor. An hour later, he swung into the parking lot of what he hoped to God was the only Super 8 in the city, wheels spinning on the surface water that covered the concrete. 

It was just past four in the morning when he skidded to a stop, throwing the handbrake on and grabbing his keys. Without a shit given to the buckets of rain falling outside, he reached for the coat, bundled it up safely under his own, threw open the door and made a beeline for the crappy motel office. The attendant was a scrawny kid not a day over twenty, and his eyes widened comically when he caught sight of Dean-of-the-Dead stumbling through the door.

“Detective Inspector... Morrissey,” he attempted to bark authoritatively at the kid, throwing him an unrelenting glare. “I need to know if a Castiel Novak is staying here.” 

It was a terrible attempt at a lie, but he had never been great at subterfuge, and he was so damn tired he swore he was swaying on the spot. The kid barely raised a brow, entirely unimpressed. “Uhuh. You got a badge, mister?” 

Dean attempted to stare the kid down, but a slow smile grew on his pizza face, and when Dean looked away with a frustrated growl, the kid snorted.

“Ri-ight,” he drawled, stretching out on the desk. “Convincing Fed pitch, but don’t give up the day job just yet.”

Dean grunted, pulling a twenty from his pocket and throwing it to the kid with an exhausted scowl. “Castiel Novak,” he repeated, voice cracking.

The kid raised an eyebrow pointedly at the bill on the desk. “Sir, bribery is illegal. I’m going to have to ask you to leave before I call the _actual_ —”

With a calming breath, because fuck, if he wasn’t so ruined he’d have decked the kid by now, Dean threw him another three. “Speed it up, beanpole,” he snapped, slamming a hand down on the desk. 

“Done and done,” the kid grinned, swiftly pocketing the money before turning to his computer. “Mr. Novak, room twenty-three. Out into the parking lot, fourth door on your left. Pleasure doing business with you DI... Morrissey, was it?” he smirked cockily. “No trouble, if you can help it. I know you musicians have a reputation.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at the scrawny bastard, barely able to convince himself to just let it go. “Got it.”

He broke out into a jog as he left the office and headed across the lot, wading through deep puddles that had his jeans soaked right up to his knees, caring more about holding his jacket firmly closed around Castiel’s coat than keeping the rest of him dry. He was already beyond saving. 

Twenty-three. The lights in the parking lot were all out, and he squinted to see through heavy rainfall buffeting his face, but eventually he found it. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, with no signs of life inside, but Dean had come too far to be deterred. He was done with running away.

His fist beat at the soaking wood before pulling back with held breath, but the only sounds he could hear were the storm around him and the few cars stupid enough to be on the highway. 

“Castiel? Fuck,” he ground out, beating at the door. His knuckles were quickly rubbed raw, but he persevered. He _had_ to be here. What the fuck would Dean do if he wasn’t? “Please,” he prayed under his breath, knocking as loudly as he could. 

He’d fucked everything up, like he always did, because he was a worthless piece of shit, and he was never going to see Cas’ damn blue eyes and bed hair again because he was so fucking— 

But as he stared morosely at the door, biting down hard enough on his split lip to tear it back open, the door swung away from him, and Dean’s heart stopped in his chest.

Everything fell away as they locked eyes, those wide, bright baby blues blinking up at him in disbelief. He couldn’t feel anything, not the pounding of rain against his back, not the freeze in his bones, not the burn in his lip, not the gaping void in his chest.

Only _Cas_. 

His mouth lost all ability to function, and he stood there dumbly for god knows how long, just staring. “I— uh, hi,” he croaked. 

Dean’s eyes drank in the sight of Castiel like a man dying of thirst in the Sahara. The perpetual muss of his sex hair fucked even more by sleep, the baby pink marks lining his face from contact with his pillow, the darker-than-usual scruff of a five o’clock shadow spreading out across his damn marble-chiseled jaw. The way Castiel gaped like he’d opened his door to the Ghost of Christmas Past.

Dean would have snorted at his own dumb thoughts if he hadn’t been rendered to stone, terrified. Fuck. His heart was gonna jump straight out his fucking stupid mouth. Hi? That was the best he could fucking do? 

_Say something,_ he ordered himself, panicked. Cas was gonna slam the door in his face before he could even get his fucking tongue to move. 

“What…?” Castiel began, voice so quiet Dean would have missed it over the storm, if the deep, glass-on-gravel rasp wasn’t music to his fucking ears.

“Before you say anything, I just—” he rushed out frantically, hunching his shoulders to form a protective barrier from the rain pounding him as he opened his jacket, pulling the safely wrapped coat from its folded pile inside and holding it out. “You, ah, you left your coat at my place. Last time. Y’know.”

Cas stared blankly. 

_Y’know?_ Dean internally berated himself. Yeah, he knows, you asshole. Who’d have thought the goldfish gawping would ever have been preferable to the shit that came out when he finally got his mouth to function. He swallowed painfully, vainly trying to blink the rain out of his eyes. God, what the fuck was he doing?

“It’s… it’s four in the morning,” Castiel said, and the lifelessness in his voice made Dean wince. 

His Cas wasn’t empty, his Cas was kinda shy sometimes, and yeah, a little on the quirky side, but he was vibrant, like a double rainbow with a pot of gold at either end, once you scratched the surface. He was _there_. Biting down hard on his throbbing lip, he mentally scolded himself for being such a stupid, sad sonovabitch. Cas wasn’t his. Not now.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he ground out, not even bothering to do his jacket back up in the face of the freezing rain. His shirt was soaked through by now, anyways. “I drove as fast as I could.”

Castiel glanced down at the huge wet patch stretching across his chest and down to the hem of his shirt, sticking the fabric to his goosebump covered skin. “To Ohio,” he clarified, in that dead voice that froze Dean worse than any shitty Midwestern weather could.

“Uh, yeah,” he flushed, a weird contrast to the ice in his bones. “Heard it’s pretty cold in Massachusetts right now, looks like you’ll need it. You always wear the thing, so I thought… I just didn’t want you to be without it.” 

Castiel stared silently for so long, Dean was getting ready to throw the coat and run. “Did you… want to come in?” he asked brokenly, looking just as bemused as Dean felt, eyes wide as he surveyed Castiel for any signs of insincerity.

“Oh, ah,” Dean gaped, “yeah. Yeah, of course,” he hastily added when the shutters came up, Castiel’s emotions guarded once more. “If you don’t mind,” he croaked, water dripping into his eyes.

Castiel held the door open wider, moving back so that Dean could enter with an indiscernible look on his face. Dean stepped inside and reluctantly handed over the trenchcoat, eyes refusing to unlock themselves from Cas. It was a fairly high-end shitty motel room around them, he’d stayed in enough of them as a kid to know what they looked like. He was more focused on staring at the sleep-muddled man as he shut the door behind them, locking out the rain, his eyes fixed so tightly, like he was scared shitless that he’d blink and Cas would be gone.

“You’re absolutely soaked,” the man noted, shaking Dean from his pathetic thoughts. 

“Uh,” he laughed nervously, running fingers through his sodden hair. “Sorry about that. Turns out I gave you my only umbrella.” 

A certain expression crossed Castiel’s face, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. “Oh.”

“I—I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head with a tight frown. “It’s late. Early.” _I’m an idiot._ “I should…Fuck. I can’t even—” he let out a frustrated sound, closing his eyes in defeat. He couldn’t fucking say it.

“Dean,” Castiel grunted, cutting him off with a pointed look. “Why are you here?”

Dean shuffled awkwardly by the door, trying to act like a normal, sane, not-about-to-lose-his-shit-and-cry human being and failing miserably. “To give you your coat—”

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Cas cut in, exhaustion lacing his words. “Did Gabriel put you up to this? I assure you, I can live without your pity—”

“What? No,” Dean dissented, shaking his head. Castiel looked at him dubiously, thinly veiling the _hurt_ , which caught Dean off-guard like a suckerpunch to the gut. He inhaled deeply, steeling himself to be honest for once in his life, before he screwed up his one last chance of them parting as even friends. “I… I saw Becky earlier,” he admitted, lips twisting into a frown as he wiped at the water on his face. “She ah, she told me. That they offered you the job.” 

Castiel straightened slightly, otherwise barely reacting to his revelation. “Oh.” 

Why couldn’t he fucking _say_ it?

_Yeah, I was a fucking idiot. You were given the job, you were going to stay, and I fucked that all away like the deadbeat failure I am because I got scared and ran my stupid mouth before you even had the chance to tell me._

Becky had glared at him so ferociously when she’d told him, that if he wasn’t being swallowed up by the world’s shittiest epiphany, he might have actually been scared by her.

Dean shook himself and opened his mouth to speak, but the wrong words tumbled out and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop them. “I know you heard me on the phone the other day, you’re such a crappy liar,” he admitted in a rush, fumbling his sentences to get it all out before Cas cut him off again. “I could tell by that damned kicked puppy look the second you walked in the door,” he said, shaking his head with a humorless laugh. “And I was kinda glad, actually. It meant I didn’t have to…” he trailed off, staring at the gaudy pattern on the carpet.

Castiel made a noise of protest, and when Dean looked up, he was clenching his eyes tightly in the low light of the lamp. “I appreciate the work you put into my car, but I can’t—I’m not so dense as to miss the overt signs. I get that it’s over, you have no need to add insult to injury,” he rasped, voice low with ire. “Thank you for returning my coat, but please,” he implored, passing only inches from Dean as he made for the door, so close Dean could smell the damn peppermint of his shampoo. “Leave.”

Last chance, dumbass, he told himself, fingernails cutting into his palms with how tightly clenched he held his fists. 

“Cas, wait,” he jumped in, heart breaking in his chest when the man turned with pure, unadulterated betrayal in his eyes. “I thought… I thought I would be okay with the whole thing, long-term’s never been my style, y’know? Throwing in the towel and moving on hasn’t been something I’ve given a second thought to before. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let you go thinking what I said was true. Please, just listen. I—I need you to know, then I swear, you never have to see me again. I’m gone” 

Castiel hesitated with his hand on the door, before giving Dean a brusque nod. “I'm listening.” 

“I wish so badly that you’d just been another notch in my bedpost,” he croaked, a hand fisting tightly in his hair. “I wish that watching you leave, knowing you’d never come back hadn’t ripped me to pieces. I was so fucking terrified, and I know that’s the world’s shittiest excuse, but… I slapped on the bravado, rattled off a few lines about how you were just another roll in the hay, and Sam, my own damn brother, who knows me better than I know myself, ate it up. I felt like… like if I convinced him, I could convince myself too.”

“Dean,” Castiel rasped, shaking his head, “this is redundant. You never promised me exclusivity. If you’re asking my forgiveness, then there’s nothing for me to give.”

Dean blinked, mouth pulled down into a frown as he shivered. “There was never anyone else,” he said, words coming out desperate and hushed. “I could live a hundred years and never deserve your forgiveness, but it doesn't matter so long as you know that. If it means anything at all, then I swear on my life, it was only ever you.” 

“I don’t understand, Dean,” Castiel breathed, weariness in his eyes. “If you’re seeking neither reconciliation nor forgiveness, what do you want?”

Dean bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood as he stared deep into those sad, cerulean eyes. “I’ve fucked it all up, haven’t I?” he said, defeat in his voice. “Here I am, dripping all over your motel room like the damn creature from the black lagoon and you’re standing there in your fucking matching pajamas looking like...” 

Brows furrowed, tired face pinched with exasperation, Castiel glanced down at himself. “Like what?” he ground out, the sound fragile and brittle as Dean felt.

“Like everything I’ve ever wanted,” he said thickly. "And that scares me so fucking much, Cas. From the moment I met you I was a goner, a stupid fucking idiot head over heels for a guy about to move hundreds of miles away and never come back. I tried to keep away, thought it could be a one time thing but I was so weak, and the day you hit your head… I spent the whole night lying there awake with you curled around me like some poor damn kitten and I couldn’t take my eyes off you, and I knew right then that you were gonna leave and it was gonna wreck me.”

Castiel frowned, pink tongue darting out to swipe at his chapped lips. “Dean—”

“No, I—I would never ask you to give up Harvard for me,” he interrupted, clenching his jaw. “God knows some dumbass small-town mechanic ain’t worth that. But what I should have said to you from the day you applied to the U, was that if you’d wanted to take the job, it’d have been my honor to be there for you every damn step of the way.”

“I wasn’t giving anything up, Dean,” Castiel grunted, turning away. “It was an opportunity, the chance to pursue a dream vocation I never thought I’d have. That wasn’t a sacrifice.”

Dean’s lips curled into a tiny smile as he watched Cas speak, and he chuckled quietly despite himself. “Even now your eyes light up just talking about it. I’ll admit my motivations for wanting you to apply were mostly selfish, but fuck, did I wanna see you that happy every day. I’ll never forgive myself if you turned it down cos of me.”

Castiel shook his head in disagreement, pursing his lips as he stared out towards the window. “It was a dream, and dreams are exactly that. In the end, they mean nothing. It was stupid.”

“Maybe,” Dean sniffed, “but sometimes they’re all that get me up in the mornings. My dream, it ain’t endless riches and some made-up bimbo with an hourglass figure. It’s stupid, girly stuff. Like waking up every morning with you in my bed.”

Castiel turned to blink at him, arms hanging limply by his sides as he stood. “Emotional capacity and gender identity have no correlation, you know,” he said, an unfamiliar tone to his voice.

Dean shrugged awkwardly, continuing on as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s… it’s dumb, domestic shit. Like making you pancakes and pie and taking you to Harvelle’s for burgers on a Friday night. Curling up with you on the couch to watch shitty ‘80s movies until you get all the references, always being around to tune up your stupid car so it never leaves you stranded again, holding your hand just cos I can,” he said, smiling to himself at the stupid fantasy. “Every time I close my fucking eyes you’re there, stringing up Christmas lights in my living room, reading some crazy Russian novel beside me in bed, playing in the garden with our two-point-five kids and our dog. That’s it. That’s my happily ever after. I’ve got the emotional capacity of a brick, but that dream, it don’t mean _nothing_ , Cas. Not to me.”

Castiel faltered, staring at him with wide eyes, and he swallowed thickly, forcing himself to continue while he still could. “I know I screwed up, you told me that you… and I panicked, I panicked and I shut down like some fucking emotionally constipated cyborg. I should have been ecstatic, God knows anyone should be to have a guy like you,” he trailed off, the words sticking in his throat like they always did. “I don’t know how to say it, I might not ever, but hell if I don’t feel it with everything I am. I should have stopped you from walking out the door, and I know I can never undo that. But you—you mean everything to me.”

“What do you want from me, Dean?” Cas asked with a small, weak voice, his face crumpling as he turned away once more. 

“I—nothing,” Dean said, struggling to blink away the burning in his eyes, “I want you to go to Harvard. I want you to be happy. And if… if one day, you can bring yourself to forgive the stupid asshole greasemonkey who was too scared to tell you how he felt about you, then that’s more than I could ever hope. Just don’t let anyone push you around up there, or tell you what you should wanna do, okay? Because you deserve to be so fucking happy, Cas, you deserve so much. And… I want you to remember that coat,” he said with a watery smile, trying for nonchalant with a casual sniff. “News said winter’s coming early for the East Coast.”

Castiel stayed frozen where he stood, staring at the bright emulsion on the walls. 

This was it. Dean’s eyes traced his barely lit profile with a final, frantic desperation, devoted to commit the sharpness of his jaw, the curl of his messy hair around his ears, the rise and fall from the bridge of his nose to the swell of his lips to memory. It would be all he had left.

With a final, fleeting glance, Dean tore himself away. He needed to go. Quickly. Before… fuck, he didn’t even know. 

Everything in him was demanding that he turn back, but he’d given Castiel his word, and he was gonna stick to it no matter how much it ripped him apart. Hear him out, then he’d leave. Dean crossed over to the door on legs that weren’t his own, opening and closing it behind him, letting the rain hit his icy skin as he crossed the parking lot towards where Baby was haphazardly parked, head down in the onslaught of the storm. 

Numb fingers fumbled for the door. The thought of another bender so soon had his stomach churning as he got the door open, but he knew without a doubt that he’d be emptying out the first open liquor store he hit. He couldn’t… he wasn’t strong enough to last without it.

He was swinging sodden, denim-clad legs into the car when he heard the sharp slamming of a door over the gushing of rain. 

_“Dean!”_

He almost snapped his neck with the force of the double-take he pulled at the sound, heart stopped dead in his chest at the sight of Castiel jogging across the flooded concrete towards him, the pouring rain soaking through his pajamas. “Cas?” he called, diving back out of the car. “Jesus, you’re getting soaked,” he said with wide eyes, shucking his jacket as quickly as he could and draping it over Castiel’s shoulders the second he was within touching distance.

The man ignored his ministrations, jumping forward to grab Dean’s face in his hands, pulling him in so close that their noses bumped painfully. He could feel the hot brush of Castiel’s breath race across his lips as his back was slammed against Baby’s flank, and he completely forgot what it was to breathe. “For someone so intelligent, you’re an absolute idiot,” Castiel growled, crowding him further into the solid steel. 

“Cas,” Dean wheezed, heart kickstarting violently in his chest until it was pounding against his ribcage hard enough to bruise.

“I walked away and with every single step, I prayed that you’d stop me,” Castiel panted, fingers threading tightly in the hair at Dean’s nape and temple, pulling their foreheads flush. “That you'd come running to tell me it’d all been one huge, awful joke. Until the minute I packed up my car and drove away, I hoped against hope that you'd show up and beg me to stay.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Dean said, voice quavering. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“And I forgive you,” Cas told him, his words almost lost to the storm around them. “But I’m not making the same mistake you did.”

Before he could even think to react, Cas was closing the last, tiny distance between them, and Dean had died and somehow jacked a fast track ticket to Heaven. His soft, soapy peppermint scent blended with the sharp ozone of the rain, surrounding Dean until he was drowning in it. In a move he never thought he’d feel again, Castiel’s teeth tugged at his lower lip, tongue brushing across the chapped flesh as fingers tightened in his hair, tilting his head for deeper access. His mouth fell open with a gasp, high on the deep breath of _Cas_ going straight to his lungs as the man’s tongue plundered his open lips, tangling with his own. Dean’s hands grasped blindly, fingers curling tightly around his waist and at the slippery leather of his own jacket where it draped across Cas’ shoulders, pulling him so close that there wasn’t an inch of space between them.

Oh, fuck. Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head as the tip of Castiel’s tongue caressed the roof of his mouth, their noses bumping and teeth clashing with the total lack of finesse in their urgent movements. He’d died. He’d been hit by a car, struck by lightning, slipped on a puddle and broken his neck, he was damn sure of it. The way Cas’ fingers tugged desperately at his scalp, the sharp nip of teeth on his lip, the slide of tongue against tongue. God, it was too good to be true. 

Dean moaned lowly, the sound swallowed by Cas’ hot mouth. He’d thought he could live without this. He almost laughed out loud at his temporary insanity. What a fucking dumbass, Dean needed Cas like he needed to breathe—a bodily function he was doing his damndest to ignore. Lights reflected off the man's ocean eyes when Dean blearily cracked his own open, wet curls plastered to his forehead. Fuck, Castiel was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You need to get inside,” Dean panted against the hinge of Castiel’s jaw when the burning in his lungs forced them to separate, his arms wound so tightly around Cas that his frozen joints groaned in protest. He couldn’t give a shit. “Gonna freeze out here, buddy.” 

“Are you coming with me?” Cas asked, tilting Dean’s chin with an icy hand and bringing their mouths back together, hot puffs of air brushing Dean’s spit-slicked lips as fingers carded through his hair. He blinked up at Dean, blue irises bright in the low glow from the streetlamps, water beading on his thick, black lashes, and Dean was lost. 

He swallowed heavily, his heart skipping a beat as he nodded. If Cas wanted him, after all he’d done, then hell fucking yeah he was coming with. Wild horses couldn’t drag him away.

A slick hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged him as Castiel turned, pulling him back across the lot to the motel. As if he needed any coercion. His jeans were a lost cause at this point, his flooded boots squelching with every step he took, but he couldn’t have cared less if he’d tried. 

He was following Cas. Cas still wanted him.

Castiel shouldered open the propped door, dragging Dean inside and slamming it behind them, shoving him back against the wood as their lips reconnected. It had been minutes since they’d last touched, maybe only seconds, but in his desperate state it was damn near an eternity. He was toothpaste and spice and heat and the petrichor in the air and Dean was moaning like a whore because he couldn’t get _enough_.

Hands dragged his sodden shirt down his arms, leaving a sleeve caught around his wrist from where he refused to take his hand from its post, pawing at the nape of Castiel’s neck. 

“Off,” Cas ground out against his mouth as he twisted fists in Dean’s soaked T-shirt, and the gravelly rasp vibrating against the tender swell of his lip sent shivers up his spine.

He nodded quickly, Cas pulling back to separate their bodies just enough to drag the shirt over Dean’s head and shuck the leather jacket, their lips smashing together as soon the clothes were abandoned somewhere at their feet. Castiel’s hands grabbed at his damp skin, as if feeling every inch, and he grunted lowly at the maddening friction of Castiel’s pajama jacket against his freezing, pebbled nipples.

With shaking fingers, he reached for Cas’ buttons, desperate to expose as much of him as he could before he exploded. It took an eternity of fumbling hands and crashing lips, but eventually he succeeded, tearing the cotton from his skin and throwing it to the floor behind them in his eagerness to get his hands on the man’s sculpted chest.

For a second, Cas’ thigh inched between his legs, pressing against him. He leaned into the pressure eagerly, almost moaning out loud when the wet denim pulled sinfully at the satin— 

_Satin._ Dean’s one-track train of thought ground to a halt, cars crashing into one another and being thrown off the rails with a crash. He was wearing panties. Another brush of muscular thigh to the bulge in his jeans and he could no longer hold back the noises ready to burst from his mouth, groaning into Castiel’s skin as the man’s hands wound around his waist, tugging him forwards as he backed towards the bed.

Fuck it, Dean thought blearily as Cas’ crotch bumped his own. In for a dime, in for a dollar. 

Cas’ hands wound around his waist, tugging him forwards as he backed towards the bed. They stumbled in the darkness, and in a tangle of limbs they collapsed onto the mattress, refusing to let go for even a second. Dean moaned low in his throat when Cas hooked a thigh around his hip and rolled him onto his back, towering over him with hands on either side of his head as their lips clashed.

Dean winced, hissing when a particularly harsh nip of teeth reopened his split lip, but it only barely registered over the heady, drunk sensation of being wrapped up in the man above him. Cas drew back with a start, ignoring Dean’s grunts of protest and the grab of hands at whatever part of Castiel’s body he could reach as he pushed himself up onto his knees.

“You’re bleeding,” Cas noted with heavy breath, eyes wide as he hovered over him. 

Dean drew the back of his hand across his lip, wiping the traces of blood away on the denim covering his thigh. “Sorry,” he panted, pulling Cas back down to him by his hips, but the man resisted, reaching down instead to run the pad of his thumb along the swell of his split flesh.

“What happened?” Cas murmured, gaze wandering to the blooming shadow of a bruise across his swollen jaw, that could only have deepened since he disgruntledly assessed it hours ago in Baby’s rearview mirror.

“Oh, uh,” Dean hesitated, breathlessly watching as Castiel’s thumb swiped across the sensitive skin, “nothing. I tripped.”

Cas raised his eyes, shooting Dean a disbelieving look in the low light as he knelt above him. “You tripped.”

Dean shrugged the best he could, heaving chest a stark contrast to the tender kiss he pressed to Cas’ thumb. “Yeah. Landed face first into one hell of a reality check.”

“Gabriel actually hit you?” Castiel asked in an odd voice after a moment of silence, punctuated only by the rain on the windows and their hitched breath. His free hand roves across Dean’s shoulders and down to his bare chest in distracting circles, and Dean arched up into them eagerly. 

“It was nothing,” he dismissed, leaning up to brush his lips across Cas’ own. “Collateral damage. He gave me a shove in the right direction, weird little guy’s getting a bigass fruit basket.”

Castiel hummed into the kiss, hands wandering across Dean's ribs and latching onto the small of his waist. His thighs straddled Dean's own, and he tightened them sinfully as his kisses moved lower, pressing against the dip in his chin, mouthing at the sharp hinge of his jaw, laving at the hypersensitive skin of his throat in just the way he liked it. 

He was so close to checking out, letting himself get lost in the pleasure, but with every press of Cas’ lips to his skin, the renewed knowledge of just what he was headed towards pulled him back from the edge with a dry throat. Castiel had never taken charge like this before, and Dean _loved_ it, but the sudden jitter of nerves left him stripped of all bravado, rapidly filling with doubt. 

Shit, what if—he panicked, but his inner turmoil was cut of with Castiel's pleased moan as he traced the dumb tattoo that spread out across his pec with the tip of his tongue, slipping lower to press butterfly kisses to his nipple. 

"Fuck," Dean grunted, and Castiel glanced up at him smugly from his spot over Dean’s body. "Sensitive."

With new vigour, Castiel laved at the tender flesh until it was pebbles and aching, only pulling back to blow a mouthful of hot air over the hardened skin. 

Dean's back arched with a groan, and Castiel smiled up at him with hooded lids. "So lovely," he murmured, leaving the nipple in favor of tonguing at the ticklish skin of Dean's sides, legs pinning him down as he squirmed. The words had him shutting his eyes tightly, cheeks flushed. By the time Cas reached his navel, Dean was full on whimpering. 

The solid, aching bulge in his pants was pressed against the swell of Castiel’s throat, the pressure of his Adam’s apple creating blissful friction with every lap of his tongue around Dean’s belly button. Castiel’s hands stroked their way up his trapped thighs, the damp material clinging to his skin and dragging, setting his nerves on fire. Nimble fingers located his zipper, and Dean took a sharp intake of breath, his stomach caving when Cas nosed the coarse hairs that dipped just under the waistband.

No backing out now, he told himself as he panted, renewed panic in the gaze he fixed on Cas as the slowly inched Dean’s fly open. There was a second of deafening silence as Cas’ eyes trailed down to what lay beneath, and when he looked back up, his eyes were comically wide. 

“I—I dunno if what you said before was just some heat of the moment shit, but…” Dean stumbled over his words, fists clenching nervously in the sheets. “I, fuck, I meant what I said. They’re mine," he choked out, face burning.

Cas was deathly silent for a long, agonizing moment, eyes flicking rapidly between Dean's own and the cherry red panties that barely even covered half of his straining erection. 

“ _Dean,_ ” he said, voice a low, dangerous sound.

"I can take them off—" Dean stuttered, but Castiel cut his words short before he even managed to force them out.

"Don’t you _dare,_ " he growled, so predatory and deep that Dean's already aching cock began to throb. "The thought of you in these was one thing, but actually seeing it... Fuck."

The rare cuss sent shivers down Dean’s spine the way it always had, and he stared, fixated, as Cas dipped down, nose skimming along the waistline, but pointedly ignoring the uncovered, leaking head of his cock. His eyes slipped shut with a low groan, hips fighting Cas' firm hold on them. The man relinquished his grip only long enough to rid Dean of his sodden jeans before he was back, fingers splayed across the bright fabric stretched tight across his hips. 

"I uh, guess you weren’t kidding when you said you wanted me in them," he flushed, heart beating so fast he was sure it was gonna give out in his chest. 

"Mmh," Cas hummed, fingers dipping under the edge of the fabric where it cut off at his thighs. "No, I wasn’t."

He nosed along the hard line of Dean's cock, the friction of the liquid satin and the pressure of the touch having Dean bite down hard on his cheek. "Fuck, Cas," he grunted, head thrashing on the cheap pillow under his head. 

"Beautiful," Cas whispered in the dark, his breath hot on Dean's aching cock as he caressed his hips with strong fingers. 

"I'm not— _fuck_ —" Dean fought to disagree through a stunted groan, writhing on the bed as Cas' burning tongue licked at him through the fabric. It was quickly soaked through, both from the ministrations of Cas' mouth as it worked its way along Dean's covered cock, and the precome that dripped from the flushed head like a faucet. 

Dean nearly threw them both off the bed when Cas took the soaked head into the searing cavern of his mouth, rolling it with his tongue as his fingers stroked at Dean’s balls through the drenched satin. He couldn’t stop himself from crying out like a dying animal, salt on his tongue from his sweat drenched lips, fingers tearing at the rough motel sheets. 

Fuck, he was gonna go off like a horny teenager. He couldn’t help himself, his body was just so desperate, so hardwired to Cas that even the most innocent of touches lit firecrackers under his skin. He was lost, completely gone, he was nothing but _need_ and _Cas_.

When Cas hooked his fingers under the waistband and inched it down his shaft, taking every newly exposed inch of skin between his lips, he couldn’t stop his hands from frantically grabbing at Cas’ shoulders, holding on for dear life.

“Oh, fuck,” he cried, head thrown back as his muscles quivered. Cas chuckled around him, the flutter of vibrations having him bite down so hard on his cheek he was sure he'd taken a chunk out of it. Nimble fingers slid the fabric lower, until the elastic waistband sat snugly beneath his swollen balls. The satin caressed them like a kiss and he whined, like a goddamn puppy, when hot, wet pressure enveloped him down to the base. 

“ _Shit,_ ” he gasped, legs shaking at the mind-blowing suction. "Cas, angel, you gotta stop—" he choked out, words garbling into a sob when Castiel slid his puffy, swollen lips off of him with a filthy _pop_. 

“Dean?” Cas rasped out questioningly, nuzzling at the heated skin of his thigh. 

Dean’s fingers twisted in Cas’ hair as he forced out harsh breaths from between his clenched teeth. “Can’t, need you.” His fingers tore at the soft cotton of Cas’ pajama pants, pushing them free of his sharp hipbones and dragging them down his legs. Their bare bodies crashed together as Castiel’s arms gave way, and Dean nearly wept at the fucking heavenly sensation of skin on miles and miles of skin. Cas’ cock was just as hard as his own, a relentless pressure against his hip, and he wrapped his arms around Dean’s back, shifting them just so, until they were perfectly in line.

“Yes,” Castiel hissed, bucking into the spread of Dean’s satin-trapped legs. The fabric of the panties dragged against them both, and fuck, Dean was gonna come.

“Cas, you—” he stumbled out in a rush, trying to fight the tidal wave of sensation. “Not gonna last, fuck. My wallet, back pocket of my jeans.”

Castiel nodded, eyes hazed with lust as he reached behind him for the sodden denim and passed Dean the leather wallet from inside. Dean tore through it for his handy condom and packet of lube faster than he was sure he ever had before, fingers trembling so much that he nearly dropped them. “I—ah—I know what this looks like, but I swear, they’ve been there for months. I didn’t plan this—”

“Shh, I know,” Cas breathed against his skin, taking the packet of lube from Dean’s shaking hand and tearing it open with his teeth, squeezing an ample amount onto his finger and shifting up onto his knees as their hips rocked maddeningly. Now was his chance, he had to say it now, no matter how much it terrified him to get the words out.

“Cas?” he gasped out in the face of the dangerously ratcheting pleasure, reaching around to grab at the man’s hand. 

“Mmhm?” the man mumbled, lips sucking bruising marks into Dean’s collarbone as his hips rolled, pushing Dean’s down into the mattress.

“I want—” Dean faltered, moaning into a particularly deep drag of Castiel’s cock against his own. Say it, c’mon Dean, say it. “Want you inside me,” he forced out in a rush.

Castiel’s hips stuttered to a stop. “You what?” he blinked in confusion, cheeks flushed a deep red as he pulled away, pupils dilated to black orbs. 

Dean looked away in embarrassment, the heat of rejection filling his face as he attempted to backtrack. He should have just kept his mouth shut, should have let Cas bottom like they had before, because fuck, it was amazing, he just... “If you don’t want to—”

“No, I…” Cas cut in, eyes wide as he wrapped strong fingers around Dean’s jaw, guiding his gaze back to meet his own. “I just assumed, you never usually…”

“Yeah well, I want it now,” Dean said, aiming for nonchalant and missing the mark by a lightyear as he squirmed under Cas’ steely gaze. 

“No,” Cas said firmly after a painfully assessing look, and Dean swallowed heavily, eyes darting away. “No, I can’t. I won’t take this from you as some sort of payment, you don’t need to earn my—”

“Cas, I’m not… I’m not a virgin,” he forced out, “but I haven’t done it since I was in my teens. I’ve never wanted to, it... it scared me.” Understatement of the century, Winchester. A shit experience or two could put you off for a damn long time, but fuck, every time a brush of his fingers across Cas’ prostate had made him cry, the blissed-out expression he got with every burning stretch of Dean’s cock pressing inside him… he wanted it. So much it hurt. “I do now. With you.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed, and he worried at his lip, fingers of his dry hand skimming across the ridge of Dean’s hip. “Are you sure?”

“I wanna be as close to you as I physically can,” he said as he leaned closer, lips spreading into a small, shy smirk against Cas’ own. “I want you inside me, stretching me out and filling me up so good I can’t keep my mouth shut. Want to be able to feel you for days, knowing every time I move that I ache cos of you. I’ve thought about you fucking me so much, spreading me out on your bed and having your way with me so many times it’s gotta be a top five on the fantasy list. So yeah, Cas, I’m sure.”

Cas swallowed, staring deeply at him, lust starting to fight away the doubt clouding his eyes. "You’re not doing this because—?"

"No," Dean cut in, praying for him to get it. _Please, I don't know how to ask for what I need. Please, just understand._

Cas hesitated, and for a painstaking moment Dean was sure he was going to refuse, but he must have seen something convincing in the pathetic look on Dean's face, because he gave a curt nod and melted back into his arms, bringing their lips together as the fingers of the lube-free hand threaded through his hair. 

Fingers from the other hand hooked in his ruined panties and slid them down his legs, discarding them somewhere on the bed. Slick, but not uncomfortably cool fingertips skirted along the underside of his shaft once more and Dean groaned contentedly at the return of sensation, letting his eyes fall closed as the touch slipped lower, a thumb coming to press against his perineum. 

"Talk to me," Cas breathed against his lips, urging him to respond. 

Dean grunted out a sharp exhalation into Cas’ skin, rocking up into the assault on his nerves. "It's—good," he stuttered, struggling for coherency. 

Cas hummed, thumb pressing down more firmly, brushing in rhythmic circles at the tender skin between his legs.

Gradually the circles danced lower, and Dean's freed legs fell open as he arched into the sensation. “More, Cas,” he gasped, hips bucking bravely. The man’s lube-wet finger found his entrance, and Dean bit his lip hard, eyes jammed shut. 

Cas tugged the battered flesh free with his own lips, soothing it with slow swipes of his tongue. There was a gentle, yet unrelenting pressure, and then Cas’ fingertip was inside him. “Okay?”

“Mmhm,” he squeaked, unsure of which way to move. The hand circling his cock was still stroking lazily, the finger inside him still while Dean acclimatized to the stretch. It was… weird, like it always had been. But Cas was tender and patient in a way he’d never known, eyes boring into his own and gauging his every reaction, waiting until he was ready to inch it in deeper, more and more until it was seated up to his third knuckle.

“Perfect,” Cas breathed, full of awe, against his bitten lips, “you’re doing so perfectly.”

“Done this before, Cas,” he grunted through gritted teeth as the finger retreated ever so slightly, only to thrust smoothly back inside, fingertip dragging teasingly along his inner walls.

Castiel only ignored him, lapping tenderly at his sore lower lip. Soon, a second finger was nudging at his entrance, and Dean fought to keep himself relaxed, muscles yielding to the increasing stretch. It took Cas no time at all to home in on his prostate, but once he’d located it, he stayed pointedly away, only brushing it gently with the pads of his fingers to help Dean through the burn that came with the third finger. 

“Are you okay?” Cas whispered in the dim light, lips pressing kisses up and down the bridge of his nose. 

“I— nngh, fuck, yeah,” Dean whimpered despite himself. “Not gonna break.”

“I know,” Cas said, and Dean could feel his mouth stretching into a smile against his skin. “My big, strong alpha male. I can look after you without it bruising your ego. It’s all I want to do.”

“What, heartfelt declarations in the rain weren’t enough?” Dean exhaled shakily, burying his face in Cas’ neck. “Outta make me cry, too?”

Castiel chuckled into his hair, the sound warm and breathless as his fingers stretched easily, scissoring and circling inside Dean until he could barely keep his eyes open under the tidal wave of stimulation. His hips writhed under Cas’, trying to get closer to—fuck, he didn’t even know. Cas’ fingers inside him, stretching him open, the weight of his body on top of him, the hot breath on his neck and the palm firmly wrapped around his damn painful cock. It was too much, but nowhere near enough to satisfy the buzzing in his veins. 

Even so, he let out a damn pathetic noise at the sudden loss of sensation when the hand extricated itself from the base of his cock, and the fingers inside him retreated with a squelch. In a move far more smooth than Dean himself could have executed, especially in his state, Cas threaded an arm underneath his back and rolled them, propping himself up slightly against the headboard.

“Like this, you’re completely in charge,” Cas smiled reassuringly at him, devotion glistening in his lust-hooded eyes as he pulled Dean into his lap, arms winding around his waist. “I can’t hurt you, Dean. I want you so much it's torture, but we’re not doing this unless you’re—” 

“The one driving,” he croaked, allowing Cas to pull him in for a kiss as the man’s hands wandered down his back and his fingers found their way back to Dean’s slick rim. The other hand reached beside them for the condom and half-empty packet of lube. His limbs tensed all at once like damn clockwork as he watched Cas roll the condom on, and no matter how much he tried to stop it, he felt himself turn to stone. “Cas, I don’t think I…” Dean rushed out in a panic. 

He was gonna fuck up, Cas wouldn’t enjoy it, it would _hurt_ and he’d either have to ride it out or ask Cas to stop, and god, he didn’t want to let him go, he knew what Cas was like, always so tender and gentle with those big sad eyes, and fuck he— 

“Dean,” Cas crooned to him, wiping his slick hands on the sheets and brushing the tip of his nose against Dean’s own. “What was it you always said to me? ‘I’ve got you’,” he whispered, “as if I ever doubted it for a second. We’ll go as slow as you need it, will stop entirely if you like. I promise, you have no reason to worry.”

Fingers retreated from Dean’s sore hole, brushing soothing strokes over his lower back. Shakily, Dean shifted forward onto his knees, arms winding around Castiel’s neck as their foreheads came together. Cas blinked up at him, reverence in his eyes. 

This is the man you want, he told himself, breath heavy against Cas’ lips as their eyes stayed locked. This is the man you want to fall asleep with every night and wake up to every morning for as long as you can. The man who loves you.

With determination, he lifted his hips and reached between their bodies to position Cas’ slippery cock at his entrance. Cas did nothing, the only reaction from him being the comforting circles he rubbed into Dean’s thighs with his thumbs, and the intense emotion in his eyes as they held Dean’s. 

Slowly he sank down, pressure at his tender hole building and building until finally the muscles gave, and the head of Cas’ cock pushed its way inside. Dean let out a hiss at the sharp burn, it was damn thicker than Cas’ fingers, but the pain he had feared quickly dulled to a twinge, until all he could feel was the overwhelming stretch. 

“Fuck,” he keened, scrambling for purchase as his elbows gave way and he collapsed onto his forearms, fingers twisting in Cas’ matted hair. Cas’ thighs were trembling beneath him with effort to keep still, and he was biting hard on his lip to the point where Dean was sure he’d tear through it. 

Forcing himself to take a steadying breath, he sank lower with a grunt. It felt like he was moving impossibly slow, inch by inch, until he was fully seated, ass pressed against Cas’ thighs.

Cas let out a harsh moan at Dean’s experimental clench, fingers biting into the skin of Dean’s thigh. “Okay?” he asked in a strained, shaking voice, and Dean groaned in assent. He was okay. He was better than okay. The harsh throb of Cas inside him had done nothing to abate his raging erection, if anything, he was dangerous close to blowing his load.

And fuck, was that an unfamiliar sensation with a cock in his ass.

“Yeah, shit, just…” he trailed off dazedly, words morphing into a moan when he swivelled his hips, feeling just how damn full he was. Cas’ cock was stretching him to the limit, pressing against every tender spot inside him, and he wasn’t even moving.

Castiel’s hands dragged their way up his hips, along his sensitive sides and around his back. Strong arms came around him, gently pulling him in closer so his swollen lips could brush against the cleft of his chin. “Take it slow,” he urged silently against Dean’s sweat-drenched skin, cupping Dean’s jaw and brushing away the wetness he hadn’t even been aware of with his thumbs. “All the time in the world.”

He was actually crying. He… he couldn’t even find it within himself to give a shit. Not when Cas cared so _much_.

“You got me, huh?” he rasped, lifting his hips and cautiously dropping back down. The pressure of Cas’ cock spearing him, spreading him wide and sending his nerve endings screaming, forced a punched-out moan from his mouth. It was eagerly swallowed by Castiel’s own as he brought their lips together, his tongue parting Dean’s and dancing with his own. 

He lifted himself eagerly this time, desperate for more. Cas’ arms tightened reflexively around him and he groaned into Dean’s mouth as he bottomed out, rocking his hips this time and pushing himself even deeper.

“Gods,” he choked against Dean’s lips, reverent. “Exquisite, Dean, never imagined I’d get you like this.” 

Eyes fell tightly shut as he bucked, chasing desperately the sensation of the head of Castiel’s cock bumping his swollen prostate. “Can’t— gonna...” Dean whimpered, crying out when Castiel shifted beneath him, nailing the sensitive bundle of nerves head-on after a few near misses.

“It’s okay,” Cas managed to force out, fingers tenderly through Dean’s hair. “I’ve got you.” Castiel’s hand slipped down between their bodies towards Dean’s cock, but he pushed the hand away before it could reach its goal, frantically shaking his head.

“Don’t—so close, think I can— oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dean chanted, clinging to Cas so tightly that the man was sure to be covered in bruises by morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to loosen his grip. He was gonna come, untouched, from nothing but Cas’ cock inside him. 

“Beautiful,” Cas gasped, panting hot breath into his mouth. “Fuck, my beautiful Dean. You were so… wanted you so much, God, I wanted you, couldn’t get you off my mind, I l—”

Dean’s movements instinctively ground to a halt, fingers digging painfully into Castiel’s skin as he held on for dear life. That word, the big red flag, the “you’ve stayed too long, time to move on”. He waited for the dread, the sinking feeling that had filled him with nausea the first time Cas tried to tell him, but it never came. All he had was the heat of their bodies, electric sparks of pleasure frying his nerve endings with every bump of Cas’ hips against his own, the wetness of Cas’ lips on his own. 

No running. Not this time. 

"I—I'm sorry—" Cas stuttered at his reaction, muffling his face in Dean's shoulder as he sharply ground his hips, the brutal thrust sending Dean’s eyes rolling back.

" _No_ ," he struggled to get out, lifting Castiel’s head with a hand twisted in a fistful of his hair. "Fuck, please," he begged, wrecked by sensation that threatened to push him over the edge. “Tell me. _Please_ , Cas.”

"I love you," the man croaked, like it was the easiest of universal truths. "Gods, I love you."

And like that, Dean was gone. Tears poured from his eyes as his body convulsed, ruined by the power of the orgasm that tore through him. He writhed frantically in Cas’ arms, nails clawing at the man’s taut shoulders when the aftershocks hit him, tearing his walls down. “Cas,” he cried out, cock spilling violently across their stomachs. 

Castiel let out a long, breathless groan, hands gripping so tightly at Dean’s skin, but he barely registered it at all over the crashing tidal waves of pleasure wringing his body out, leaving him collapsed like deadweight atop of Cas’ shaking body. 

Through it all, Cas refused to let go. His arms remained steadfastly wound around him, and as their aching muscles finally began to relax, and their pliant bodies melted into one another, they only pulled him in tighter. The sticky mess between them, the sweat and come that would soon glue them together was near inconsequential, Dean couldn’t have cared less if he tried. He was on cloud fucking nine. 

Wordlessly, Castiel shifted them, and Dean couldn’t help the hiss that escaped his chapped lips as Cas slipped out of his abused hole. 

“‘Kay?” he breathed, concern in his eyes as he brushed a hand through Dean’s fucked-to-hell hair. All he could do was grin like a lunatic, wriggling back even closer as soon as Cas had wiped them down with the corner of the bedsheet and clinging to him like his life depended on it. Because yeah, he’d be an idiot to deny at this point that it probably did. 

“Just peachy,” he replied. The adrenaline was gonna wear off any minute now, and the exhaustion he’d been storing up was gonna hit hard, but until the moment his body took over and physically dragged him into unconsciousness, he wasn’t giving in. No chance in hell.

They lay together in the afterglow, Dean’s limbs tangled so tightly around Cas’ that he had no idea where he ended and Castiel began. He ached, everywhere from the fingerprint bruises around his biceps and hips to the faint throb in his ass, but god, it was fucking fantastic.

“I’m more of a cat person,” Cas hummed after a while, breaking the easy silence, lips buried in the skin at the base of Dean’s throat.

“Hm?” Dean murmured, a slow smile spreading across his face as he carded fingers through Cas’ sweat-soaked locks of hair. The sun was beginning to rise, a shaft of dawn light brushing across Castiel’s face. Dean found himself leaning down to press his lips to where the sun hit the tip of his nose with a giddy, childish grin.

“You said about our dog,” he clarified, smirking at Dean’s actions and nuzzling against his sticky skin. “I’m more of a cat person.” 

Dean chuckled, tilting his head to allow Cas’ mouth better access. “I’m allergic to dogs, so pretty damn glad to hear that.”

Castiel snorted. “You’d have put up with a perpetually runny nose for the sake of an apple pie life?” he asked, fingertips dancing over Dean’s ribs.

“For you,” Dean corrected, relaxing into Castiel’s caress as he sank deeper, eyes falling shut. “I’ll need some time to get my ducks in a row back in Lawrence, but I can’t stay there without you, Cas, I’m gonna up and leave. Sneezing a bit when we give Pluto a bath? Nothing I can’t handle.” 

He couldn’t live another day without this, without Castiel’s crazy hair itching his nose, without his bony hips jabbing Dean’s thighs, or his wide, gummy smile brightening his whole damn world. He’d rather die.

At his words Castiel froze in his arms, and Dean cracked an eye open, peering at him in the light from the morning sun. “Pluto?” Cas murmured, pensive. “Imaginative dog name.”

Carefree, Dean laughed. “You always were the smart one, dollface,” he said, pulling the crumpled comforter up over their cooling bodies. 

Castiel’s lips spread in an indulgent grin, the stunning kind that stopped Dean’s heart dead in his chest, and slumped back into Dean’s embrace under the covers. “Moot point. There’ll be more than enough room for Garfield and Felix in your house.”

“My house?” Dean repeated dumbly as Cas snuggled in closer. 

“Well, I don’t mean to be presumptuous,” Castiel said, a teasing smirk stretching his bright pink lips, “but we established off the bat that it’s quite a commute from an apartment in Massachusetts back to work in Kansas. And as much as I love Gabriel, finding exotic flavors of lubricant in the kitchen cupboards is something I can really live without.”

All the air left Dean’s lungs in a sharp, heavy exhale. “You… you’re coming back?” 

“If you’ll have me,” Castiel nodded. “The university urged me to call them in the event that I change my mind, I won’t be a freeloader.”

“I—fuck, of course. Yes,” Dean rushed out, pulling Cas in for a desperate, perfectly sloppy, awkwardly angled kiss. “For as long as I can. God, that’s awesome.” 

Cas was coming home. With him. His head span giddily as he pulled Castiel as close as their bodies would physically allow it, twisting their legs tightly together and brushing the man’s razor sharp cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs.

“I’m glad that you came, Dean,” Castiel whispered against his lips, and Dean’s chest tightened so painfully that he struggled for breath.

“Wish it hadn’t taken my stupid ass so long,” he said, peeling one hand away from his face to entwine his fingers with Cas’ own. “If I’d missed you…”

Castiel cut him off with a swift peck, fighting away the thought that dropped like a stone to the pit of his stomach. “You didn’t.”

He hummed in assent, angling his head to chase the kiss, eager to deepen it. “Gonna spend the next forever making it up to you, Columbo,” he promised quietly, gently tugging at Cas’ sore lips with his teeth. 

“That so?” Castiel asked idly, fingers coming up to thread through Dean’s hair, scratching rhythmically at his scalp in a move that had him almost purring.

“Mmhm,” Dean mumbled between slow, wet kisses, tongue teasing Cas’ palate when the man hitched the thigh he had wedged between Dean’s legs, bringing their bodies absolutely, perfectly flush.

“Well,” Cas drew out contemplatively as he pulled back, a teasing smirk spreading across his lips, “I have a significant amount of poorly wiped ejactulate smeared across my stomach and thighs. You could accompany me to the shower and help me wash it off. Starting forever off small, you know. I could help you, too.” 

A smile broke out across Dean’s face, so wide it ached. “Yeah, I can get behind that. Teambuilding, right?”

“Right,” Castiel beamed, disentangling himself slowly, teeth tugging at Dean’s swollen lower lip as he pulled away.

He was done turning tail and running in the opposite direction—Cas was his everything, and hell if he was going to sit by at watch that walk away from him again. Not for anything in the whole damn world. From that moment on, Dean vowed to himself that he would follow Castiel Novak anywhere. Wherever their lives, or Castiel’s job took them, be that out of state, cross-country, or halfway around the planet.

He’d be right there, chasing Cas’ heels, the happiest sonovabitch alive.

But they could worry about all of that later. Right then, shit eating grin on his face as he threw the ruined sheets from across his legs, he was gonna focus on following the irresistible man he adored to the shower, and he was gonna do his absolute damnedest to make him forget his own name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Damn long chapter, right? What did you all think, did I do a good enough job? So sorry again that this took me as long as it did, I really wanted to get this one right and avoid rushing through it just to get it out before I moved.
> 
> Just the epilogue to go! Please, let me know what you thought :) I love hearing from you, you guys really are the best. Thank you all so much <3


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